Apotheosis
by Maria Krause
Summary: The curtain rises for a new mystery: a new mission. Theater stars are dying one by one. Enter Ciel, Sebastian, and Charlotte Aethelburg, theater actress. While on the trail of a calculating murderer, they might just find out more than they're prepared to take on. Co-written with aeon fear.
1. Act 1, Scene 1

_This is a collaboration story I've been writing since October of last year, together with my friend aeon fear. Oh. There's a rhyme. :) _

_Regardless, this is a story I'm personally very proud of so I'd appreciate it if you shared your opinion through a review._

_Also, we don't own Kuroshitsuji, not even Sebastian, unfortunately. :(_

_I hope you'll enjoy our synchronized performance :)_

_Mary :D_

* * *

**_Act 1_**

* * *

Scene 1

* * *

Alcott Aethelburg, the third Earl Aethelburg, used to be one of the finest gentlemen of the metropolis. With his handsome features and kind manners, it was a wonder how he had been left unmarried, even though he was barely 24 years of age. Oh, how he would need the unconditioned love of a woman in such dreadful moments!

The poor young man was standing alone in the burial vault of his family, holding his hat to his chest in one hand and carrying a silver cane in the other. Two years had passed since the tragic events but only then, surrounded by the dead members of his family, did the loneliness reach deeply into his heart, freezing his blood.

Earl Aethelburg had ceased to be a fine gentleman after his sister, his darling Beatrice, and his father were brutally murdered by an unknown criminal. The shock was great, for Beatrice was the purpose of Alcott's existence. Their mother had lost her life upon giving birth to his sister but, taught by his father, Alcott had learnt to cherish this sacrifice and grew to love the little girl more than himself.

A single tear escaped the corner of his ash colored eyes, running slowly along his smooth cheek. "What have I done wrong?" murmured he, gripping his cane tighter. He had sworn not to cry, for he was a man, but he had done it numerous times, during the long nights when he would drink much more than necessary.

A heavy sigh left his tired lips as his thoughts drifted towards those moments of weakness. He realized how many pointless things he had done and suddenly wished to make everything right again. His eyes fell on the 'Arthur Aethelburg' name engraved on the stone of one of the tombs-his father's. Alcott deemed himself unworthy of the title and the fortune he had inherited from his parent. He had lost his pride long ago, had even stopped cutting his hair as a sign of his continuous mourning. But he couldn't keep doing this forever, he didn't want to ruin what was left of his family.

Putting his black hat back on, Alcott left the cemetery with refreshed spirits. He wouldn't let his father's efforts go to waste. The West End theatre Arthur had put all his hopes in and loved so much, the stage which brought happiness to his depressive sister—he wouldn't let it fall down without having even tried to restore it.

He had once been his sister's manager. He would be capable of managing the theatre as well. But first, he needed a troupe. And among that troupe, he needed a star. A star that would make his theatre shine brighter than any other. Such a unique star could be found anywhere, he just prayed to come across it as soon as possible.

For that purpose, Earl Aethelburg began wandering the dark and dirty streets of London and attending extravagant West End theatres, observing second-hand performers during the day and admiring already polished diamonds on evenings. Out of the two, he inclined more towards the former. He wanted someone he could take care of, someone who would become indebted to him for the charitable act he would do. Such a someone would forever be loyal to him and never leave him, should they be approached by a richer theatre owner.

Unfortunately, the streets were of absolutely no help at all. The gypsies did not interest him, nor did the dishonest gamers tricking the men out of their money. It was the first time he saw how low London actually was. He'd been with his head in the clouds his whole life and knew nothing of these poor souls struggling to survive every single day. It caused him pity but also nausea.

Until, one day, while strolling along a more populous and tidier street, he heard the newspaper boy yell, "Circus! Circus! One fortnight in town! Circus! Circus!"

Earl Aethelburg received the news as a splash of cold water in the face early in the morning. He rushed with small steps to the boy and bought a paper. It wasn't the Times, it was a company he hadn't even heard of, but the article on the first page captured his attention and held it for long moments.

A picture of a happily smiling girl, wrapped in a tight, colorful costume accompanied the columns about the 'Wagner Zirkus'. "'Charlotte Wagner, of only 15 springs, daughter of the owners, is also the brightest shining star of the circus...'," he read aloud, "The brightest shining star..."

Folding the paper, he put it under his arm and hurried back home to begin the preparations. "Circus! How brilliant! Why has it not occurred to me sooner?"

* * *

Earl Aethelburg bought a ticket that very night and attended the first performance of Wagner Zirkus.

The circus put up their tents in the edge of London. It was some distance from his home, but it did not matter. He was utterly focused on seeing how Charlotte Wagner would perform. She may have been just what he was looking for. Brilliant, young, talented. She was also beautiful—though the picture in the paper told him nothing about the color of her hair or eyes.

He arrived with only ten minutes in advance and showed himself in. There were some ruffians who tried to rob him on the way in but a few blows from his cane put them to order. He seated himself a few feet from the circus ringside. He had to make sure to absorb every second of her performance.

It was crowded inside the circus. The sequence of the performances obviously catered to Charlotte's popularity—she was the last act, for maximum audience impact. Before her act, there were the ordinary acts for a circus—bears, clowns, horses, leaping tigers. There were also a knife-thrower and a fire-walker.

The crowd gasped, shouted, and applauded according to the performances. Alcott watched the crowd as carefully as he watched the acts, and what he saw satisfied him. If this was the sort of environment that Charlotte had grown up in, she would have no trouble adjusting to a life in London. She was no shy backwater country girl, this Charlotte, to shine in the Wagner Zirkus.

"And now—the moment you've all been waiting for! The pride of the Wagner Zirkus—Lottie Wagner!"

Lottie? Ah, yes. Her stage name.

Lights suddenly burned high above them. As one, the audience looked up, just in time to see a blurred figure leap high into the air. It caught a bar that Alcott hadn't even noticed was there until she swung from it, as easily as if her body was not made of flesh and blood and sinew but of another, more ethereal substance.

"Charlotte Wagner," he whispered softly to himself.

She had light brown hair, was slim and petite. That was all that he could see from where he sat. He could also see her smile from down there. It was obvious that she loved performing.

The crowd returned that love. They applauded wildly, whooping and shouting with glee. A few rows in front of him, a black-haired boy was actually laughing, clapping his hands.

"Perfect," he told himself, as he watched her do pirouettes. The perfect tool.

He stood just as Charlotte made one final graceful somersault, landing only inches from where he was. For a moment he caught her eyes—a lovely shade of crimson. It seemed that she noticed him too, for her eyes lingered on him, a well-dressed figure, standing in the sea of people.

He smiled at her. The first time he smiled since...well. Since that incident.

Charlotte immediately turned away, blushing slightly, and bowed to the audience, her arms raised up high. Three bows in three directions. Then she exited the ring.

As she left, Alcott was also leaving his seat. He had to have her in the new theater. It was the new purpose that he needed after the deaths of his father and sister. Something stirred in him as he watched her performance. As a theater man, he knew what it was. Charisma. The ability to draw in people.

Looking at her perform, he felt like he could live again—face each day with only the thought of bringing the criminals to—what?

Justice? A personal vendetta, perhaps, at his own hands—

But it could all wait. It must wait, for the first step in his plans was spiriting Charlotte away from this circus. Money was no object. He could offer her a life a thousand times better than what she was used to.

He departed from the circus. A few men pointed him in the direction of the Wagners' tent. He nodded his thanks and proceeded to the said canvas dwelling.

There was a man outside the tent, smoking a cigar. Alcott approached the man cautiously. "Good evening. Are you Hans Wagner?" he asked politely.

"Perhaps," said the man. "Who wants to know?"

"Earl Alcott Aethelburg." He swept his hat off and pressed it close to his chest. "Are you interested in a proposal?"

* * *

"Proposal? What kind o' proposal?" the man spoke with a thick accent, his eyes gleaming strangely.

Alcott gave him a sly smile. It would be easy to fulfill his plans. Although the German was physically imposing, with strong arms and broad shoulders, it was obvious that he lacked education. Also, it would have been impossible not to notice how his entire attitude changed upon hearing the title of Earl. The man wanted money. It was all Alcott needed.

"A business proposal," the Earl replied, "Concerning your daughter."

Herr Wagner stiffened for a moment, but just for a slight moment, then invited the Earl in to a cup of hot tea because the January chill was freezing him to the bone. Alcott gladly accepted, mentally preparing his speech.

* * *

Charlotte was greeted by her mother behind the curtains with a proud 'bravo!' and criticizing eyes. The woman never let her daughter think too highly of herself, for she strove perfection and arrogance would be an obstacle impossible to overcome. Frau Wagner knew from experience. She herself had once had an unfortunate downfall which forever cast her away from being the main attraction.

The girl listened carefully to her mother's explanations and promised to work hard to correct her mistakes until the next show. She wrapped herself in a woolen shawl her mother handed to her and walked outside to talk to the journalist who had made the article about the circus, in spite of the cold. She was well aware of the financial difficulties her parents found themselves in and was willing to help as much as she could.

"Miss Wagner, is it?" he inquired.

Charlotte nodded.

"I must say that your performance was impressive! I have never in my life seen something so beautiful," he heartily praised her, "Would you mind answering some of my questions?"

"No, not at all. Go ahead. But my English is not very good so please forgive my mistakes," she shyly responded.

The lad smiled with sympathy and suggested a walk around the place to keep themselves warm. For the following quarter of an hour, the reporter assaulted her with flattering compliments every time he asked a question. Charlotte blushed and smiled with crimson orbs full of gratitude. She replied to his queries to the best of her abilities and apologized whenever she thought she had said something wrong, until she received the assurance that he understood everything and shall make it sound good on paper. He kissed the back of her hand when they parted, earning one last cute smile from the young lady that had charmed him completely.

Charlotte spun on her heels and returned quickly to her tent, knowing that a cup of hot milk was impatiently awaiting her. But she was more than surprised to find a stranger in her tent, talking to her parents, who had clearly forgotten about her milk. Of course. They were too busy entertaining the rich-looking guest.

"Ah, there is she!" her father merrily called, standing up. His heavy arm fell on her shoulders, almost crushing her to his chest. "Mah daughtah," he stated on a proud tone.

Earl Aethelburg stood as well and bowed before the confused girl. "Miss Wagner, it is my utmost pleasure to meet you like this. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Alcott Aethelburg, the third Earl Aethelburg."

"Earl?..." she muttered dumbfounded.

She looked away when their gazes met, as if that would hide her suddenly reddened cheeks. It was the handsome man from the audience who had smiled at her during the show. She didn't know what to say. His presence was unusually overwhelming, unlike nothing that she had felt before. When she finally dared to look at him again, her eyes locked on his unwillingly. There was something in his that sent shivers down her spine. Not that great sorrow hidden deep within his irises, something else, malicious and unnerving.

"Well, then, Mr. Wagner, we shall meet again in 13 days. Have a good night." The Earl put his hat on and grabbed his cane.

Frau Wagner saw him out with overbearing politeness, speaking too much and too fast. Her face was gloriously beaming when she came back. Charlotte had a dozen questions but seeing the bottle of good liquor on the table, she assumed that Earl Aethelburg must have been an investor of sorts. Little did she know that the investment required an unpleasant trade.

* * *

Alcott jumped in his carriage with a satisfied countenance. He had taken the first step into his new life and he was extremely happy about it. Charlotte Wagner was more than he could have wished for. She had talent and loved to perform. She was also strong, both physically and psychologically. She wouldn't be such an easy target for his evil enemies.

"Charlotte..." A playful grin adorned his lips. "Charlotte...," he repeated, still lost in the girl's scarlet orbs.

* * *

Three days after Charlotte's interview with the newspaper, the article was published. She received the morning edition of it and eagerly browsed through the paper.

She found it on the fifth page. Her picture was on the upper right hand corner. She read every word. So far, the article stayed true to what she had told the journalist...

Except for the final paragraph.

"However, rumor has it that the Fraulein Charlotte Wagner would soon be leaving the Wagner Zirkus to pursue a life in the theaters of London!" she read aloud in horror. "What is this? I never said anything like this!"

She ran to their tent. There was only one place the reporter could have gotten that tidbit from. Her own parents.

"Father! What is this?" she demanded.

Her father looked up. "Eh?"

"What's this? I am leaving the circus?"

Herr Wagner put a hand on her shoulder. "Lottie, calm down. That gentleman from three nights ago, the Earl Aethelburg—he wanted you to join his theater."

Her heart began to pound."And?"

"Ah...Lottie, you know that we've had money problems..."

Comprehension came at the speed of light. "You agreed...You will give me away!"

He had the grace to look ashamed.

"Did you tell the paper, too?"

"No! No, Lottie." He shook his head emphatically. "We would not...we would like to tell you this ourselves. Not the paper. You should not have had to find out from this article."

She threw the paper down at her father's feet. "How can you expect to make the circus popular again if you give me away?" she hissed. Tears were starting in her eyes.

If her parents weren't the ones who told the paper, then...

It could only be that Earl.

* * *

The Earl Aethelburg folded his morning paper with a satisfied expression on his face. It had been a simple matter to ask the journalist to add a few sentences more to Charlotte's article—that, and a few coins sent the right way. He wondered how she would take it.

Nonetheless, Charlotte was not the only factor in his plans for revenge. She was a step, yes. Still, he had to oversee the theater premises, or else Charlotte would not have anywhere to perform.

He found other actors quickly. They had been lured in by the promise of working with the Aethelburgs once more. Most of them were members of his old theater, only needing a "Beatrice".

He felt the familiar grief rack through him at the thought of that—another "Beatrice"? Another star who would make the theater—his theater now—rise from the bloodbath it had descended into. Disappeared into. And, like a magic trick, he would show those men what it really meant to have him as an enemy.

He rode all throughout the city, gathering resources and information. He was just about to go home when he heard a commotion in the street.

"And I need the directions for the newspaper, Gazette! Where is it?"

The Earl knew that voice, and couldn't believe it. He tapped the side of his carriage to halt the vehicle.

A group of thugs were surrounding a much shorter figure. He stepped closer. "Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

The thugs turned to look at him. "Mister, you shouldn't stick your nose where it don't belong."

"This lady is with me." Or almost with him anyway. "I think you're the ones who don't have any business with her."

Charlotte was just staring at him with wide eyes.

"Oh yeah? Care to prove your claim?" said another thug, getting offensively close to his face.

Gray eyes flashed. There were five of them and one of him. He swung his silver-tipped cane, nearly taking out the eyes of the thug closest to him. As it was, he heard a sickening crack as the cane came into contact with his skull. Another two swings, dislocating an elbow and a wrist of two separate bullies.

Their cries of pain were like music to his ears. They had never known real pain, the ignorant fools.

The remaining two men stepped back when he took another step towards them. "Well, gentlemen?"

They fled. In seconds, the street was clear.

* * *

He faced Charlotte. "Are you all right?"

"H-How did you know where I was?"

He almost laughed. "No, I didn't know. It was just coincidence. Lucky for you, too. Have you been in London before?"

"No."

"It would be easy to get lost, and there are a lot of ruffians like that around here. Come with me. I'll escort you back to the circus."

She followed him into his carriage, where he instructed his driver to convey him to the Wagner Zirkus. He was inspecting his cane, checking to see if there was any blood, when she finally spoke.

"Aren't you going to ask why I was there?"

"I can guess," he said dryly. "You wanted to find me. And ask me why I told that journalist that you're about to leave your precious circus."

She reddened. "If you know so much, then answer my question!"

He was blunt. "I don't think it's strictly relevant. Your parents are inclined to agree with selling you to me. You would know better than I about your current financial situation. I can give you my reasons why I want you when you formally leave the circus."

"I don't want to go with you!"

He smirked. "That's not strictly relevant, either." He leaned close. "And you can be more gracious to the one who saved you. What do you think they would have done if I hadn't arrived, hmmm?"

"I..."

He sensed her mounting temper and sat back again with a sigh. "If you want to go into the city again, take someone with you. You may be a gifted performer, and I think with your abilities you may be able to get away from one, maybe two of them. But five men are too much. They could break you in half with only one hand."

The carriage stopped, effectively ending their conversation. "Here we are. I can't come with you to your tent, however. This is as far as I can go."

They really were there. Charlotte had been afraid that the Earl Aethelburg would take her to his home and never let her leave.

"Aren't you going to come and persuade my parents again?" Charlotte asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

The driver opened the door for her and she got out of the Earl's carriage.

"Why, Charlotte," the Earl said, amused. "They don't need persuasion anymore."

She went pale. It was already arranged?

"Enjoy your last performances with your circus, dear. Guten abend." He tapped the roof of his carriage again, and the Earl rode away.

Charlotte sank to her knees. She had little more than a week left.

What had her parents done?

* * *

Charlotte ran desperate to her tent, finding her parents talking casually over lunch. "What have you done?" she yelled with bitterness.

"Lottie!" Her mother stood up, a hurt expression spread across her face.

"You have sold me like a slave, to a stranger! And you dare call yourselves my parents! How could you?! Just how could you?"

"Lottie, dear...It is best for all of us," Frau Wagner began, "With the money from that man we can restore the circus and he has promised to take very good care of you! You have seen him! We'd have to live a thousand lives to offer you what he already has—"

"I don't care! You are the worst!"

With that, she stormed out and rushed to the main tent. The performers greeted her warmly and smiled at her as she passed by them. She smiled back, sadness picking at the corner of her eyes. She had to scare it away before the show and the best way to do it was training. She climbed to the tightrope, took a step on it, breathed in deeply and jumped. The audience didn't have to know what she was going through. The audience always deserved the best.

* * *

_Apotheosis-1. perfect example of something 2. best point in someone's life or career_

_~The first act will be continued with scene 2 on the 24th~_

___ps: the cover is custom-made. by me. the blonde chick is Charlotte :D (I could make one for you, too, if you'd like, just drop me a review or a pm)_

_pps: don't just click all of those little squares, write something in that big review box as well; Sebastian will give you a rose for it :)_


	2. I Scene 2

_Well, here I am again! I know that there are no canons involved just yet but please be patient! The Phantomhives will be making an appearance next time :D Both Ciel, and his father, Vincent. It's gonna get exciting!_

_Enjoy, darlings!_

_Also, don't forget about my friend aeon fear! Thank you so much for helping me through this ^_^_

* * *

Scene 2

* * *

Earl Aethelburg checked his pocket watch as he rode in his carriage to the circus. The big day had finally arrived and he had to collect his prize.

The tent was fuller than ever and excited whispers surged the impatient crowd. He took his seat in the first row, looking around him with superiority. All these men would surely come to his theatre to see Charlotte again, to marvel even more at her unbelievable skills. Alcott pulled the hat over his eyes and waited.

He felt from the first second that this show was the greatest one of all and he had yet to see it. The animals were livelier, the lights were brighter, the fire was hotter. "And now, for the last time in this ring! The wonderful! The marvelous! Ladies and gentlemen, Lottie!"

The audience applauded all at once as the familiar light shone above and Charlotte emerged from it like an angel, sweeping over their heads with her smile stuck on her lips. Alcott was impressed by her mere presence and began to clap his hands, at his own pace, but he still applauded.

She sprang and spun and flew. Her petite figure, clad in shimmering red and black, floated in the air like a feather. Alcott was proud of her, in a strange way, as if she belonged to him. Not yet, he told himself in an attempt to contain his excitement, a little more...just a little more.

At last, Charlotte landed on the ground, bowing to the public. She picked up some of the flowers they were throwing and waved happily at them. "Thank you, everyone! Thank you!" She wondered whether to tell them to keep watching her at the theatre or not and in the end decided: why not? They all knew she was leaving the circus, anyway. "I'm looking forward to your amazing support from now on as well!"

She turned around and vanished behind the heavy curtains, where she finally allowed herself to cry.

* * *

Earl Aethelburg was welcomed in the Wagners' tent, only Charlotte, who was gathering her things, had a sorrowful look in her eyes. "Henry," Alcott called to his coachman as he took off his gloves. Henry took the Earl's gloves and cane with a bow and remained in the background.

Alcott reached inside the hidden pocket of his coat and laid two stacks of money on the table. Charlotte's heart tightened upon seeing this. She felt like an object being marketed. Her father was almost drooling. It disgusted her and she was somehow glad that she was able to leave. If that's who her father really was, then she regretted being his daughter.

"I believe that now, our deal is complete," the Earl stated, putting his gloves back on and retrieving his cane. He was glancing at Charlotte from the corner of his eye. "Henry," said he but as the coachman took a step towards the girl, Alcott changed his order, "Never mind," and went to pick up her large trunk himself.

He lifted his hat and bowed slightly in the direction of the deeply touched parents then to Charlotte with his charming smile, stretching out his arm for her, "Shall we?"

The girl said nothing. She reluctantly linked her arm with his, gripping his sleeve. He noticed that and held her closer to him, whispering: "Worry not, darling, I promise you will be the brightest star of London!"

Charlotte had to swallow the tears rushing to her eyes. She might have taken the first step into a better life but her heart was broken as she left behind her home, her childhood. Something like this had never occurred to her, not even when thinking about marriage. She had imagined she would fall in love with a fellow performer and keep the circus going, like her parents did. But there she was, walking out of the tent for the last time, with a man who wasn't even her fiancée.

He politely helped her climb into his carriage but not even after they were seated face to face, did she dare to speak to him. "You should be grateful. That circus was a waste of your talent. You deserve so much more...," he told her.

Alcott could hear Charlotte's gulp, for an uncomfortable silence had settled between them. "Very well," he murmured and said nothing more until they reached West End.

Henry carried the 'young lady's' trunk in the Aethelburg mansion and led Charlotte to her room. Had she not been so upset, she would've stared agape at the wonders of that place. She had never seen such a big and beautiful house.

"If the young lady needs anything, I shall be pleased to serve you," Henry told her before leaving her alone. But not for long, because Alcott soon came to see how she liked her new chamber.

"What do you think? Pretty suitable for a lady." She opened her mouth as to speak but no words came to her mind. "You'll get used to it in no time," he stated dryly. Charlotte snorted but did not reply to him. "Well, then...See you tomorrow. A maid will wake you up in the morning and prepare you for breakfast."

"Ah..."

"Would you like something differently?" he asked, understanding her complaint.

She nodded shyly, "Yes, please. I would like to rest well tonight so...um...I do not wish to awake early."

"Very well. I'll tell the maid not to bother you unless you call for her. That string above the bedside table. It will ring a bell to let the maid know you're up."

"Thank you."

The Earl smiled again, and left. Charlotte sat on the bed, resting her elbows on her knees. A new life which she shouldn't regret...But if that was the case, then why did her heart feel so tight?

* * *

The next morning Charlotte was greeted not by her mother's face, but by sunshine and silence. It took her a few minutes to remember where she was. When she did, she almost started crying again.

She had never felt so utterly alone in her life. She had been abandoned in a city she did not know, with a person she did not care for. Her parents might have thought that they were doing what was best for her, but who were they really trying to save? Herself, or the circus?

She rose and walked to the windows, throwing them open so she could see London. The city was filled with people, but unlike the crowd during a performance, this crowd excluded her, rather than included her, in its activities.

Charlotte sighed and sat on the bed. The clock on the bedside table told her that it was nine forty-two in the morning—a lot later than what she had been used to. She supposed it was too late to chase after the circus now.

There was also a small bell on that table. Alcott had told her to ring it if there was anything she might need...and the maid would assist her.

But what did she need? She wanted her old life back, but Alcott wasn't likely to give it to her.

She pulled the bell.

After a few minutes, there was a knock on the door. The maid who entered introduced herself as Layla and she informed Charlotte that she would be in charge of her from then on.

"Where's the Earl?"

Layla paused and Charlotte realized that she was probably being rude by demanding where he was. She was effectively a slave sold to the Earl's whims.

"The Earl is overseeing the construction work of the new theater. He had instructed me to assure you that he will be back before nightfall—"

"I want to see him."

"Very well," Layla agreed. "Let's work on making you presentable."

"What do you mean?"

* * *

Layla's definition of presentable was quite extensive. She gave Charlotte a bath, ignoring Charlotte's protests that she could do it herself. Then she dressed her and arranged her hair elaborately.

"What is all this?!" Charlotte snapped. "Are you trying to take my hair out by the roots?!"

"But, Miss Charlotte, you are the new star of the Earl's theater! You must be appropriately dressed."

"I don't care about his theater. I want to go back to the circus."

Layla shook her head. "The Earl is actually not a very bad man. I hope you can give him a chance."

Charlotte looked away. He would have a hard time proving that.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she remembered the time when he saved her from a group of thugs. He had returned her to her home then and given her a room of her own when she had arrived in this house.

"There we are."

Layla made her face a full-length mirror. For a few seconds Charlotte was too stunned to speak. She raised a shaking hand to touch her reflection.

Was this really her? This lady in a red dress, pearls in her ears, hair styled just so. There were gloves on the delicate-looking hands, a small red hat on top of her head. The reflection's eyes were wide and overwhelmed. Charlotte felt as if she was looking at a stranger.

She was looking at a lady.

Layla bowed to her. "I will arrange for a carriage to convey you to the theater."

* * *

Later, when Henry had prepared the carriage, Charlotte saw a huge portrait of a girl in the front hall. Her looks recalled the Earl's features somewhat, but they were softer, and her smile was more cheerful.

"Who is that?"

Layla looked at the portrait. "That's Lady Beatrice, Earl Aethelburg's younger sister."

"Oh." Beatrice was beautiful. "Where is she? At the theater?"

Layla glanced at her. "I think you would do well to wait for the Earl to tell you about her."

Something was amiss. The look in Layla's eyes told her so, but there was no chance to ask about it, for Henry was already escorting her away from the main hallway. Charlotte still couldn't get over how huge the house was.

She was alone inside the carriage, but she opened the small window so she could see the route from the house to the theater. She now knew that the Earl was right in saying that it would be to her advantage not to get lost in London. However, the streets still didn't mean anything to her. She would have to learn their names...

She stopped that line of thought. Why was she thinking like she was going to stay here anyway?

* * *

They reached the theater ten minutes later.

It was big, but then again she didn't have too much experience with the theater to make comparisons. Inside was a riot of activity—they were apparently enlarging the stage to resemble a circus ring. At first she couldn't see Alcott, but then she caught a glimpse of his black top hat and hurried to his side. He hadn't noticed that she was there.

"...will be arriving anytime today. We can start removing the wooden slats of the stage and replace them with a circular one. The re-painting would not proceed until we've finished with the re-furnishing...and anyway I haven't found enough men to do the job yet. I want the theater to operate by spring—two months away. Let's hurry."

Suddenly Alcott turned around and saw her. "Ah, Charlotte. Good afternoon." He kissed her hand as the other workers stared. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Charlotte Wagner, our new star. I hope that you will welcome her."

To her intense relief, everyone smiled and extended their greetings. They were workers, not performers, and yet they already treated her like one of their own.

* * *

Alcott hovered in the background. He wasn't smiling, but he was relieved too. He knew that the others had relied on Beatrice as much as he once did. Again, he wondered if Charlotte was up to the task of raising his theater from the ashes.

But wasn't that why he brought her? He had the confidence that she could do it.

"Come," he ordered when the noise died down. "I'll show you to your dressing-room, and we'll talk in my office. I will explain your duties."

Charlotte followed the Earl to a series of rooms at the back. It was quieter here, at least. There didn't seem to be much construction work. "The theater...it's already here for a long time?" she curiously questioned.

"Since the time of my grandfather, yes."

"But it seems in perfect shape. Why are you remodeling it?"

Alcott stopped with his hand on a doorknob. "Obviously, a normal stage is not appropriate for your act. Your high-wire balancing requires the new beams to be put in."

Charlotte's mouth hung open as she realized that all this work was for her. For her. The Earl had been utterly confident, since the beginning, that she would join him.

"This will be your room. Layla won't be here to cater to your every need, but I'll find someone that can. In the meantime please try and get used to the city. Life is much busier here."

He had such a cool, calm tone of voice.

"We can't have my star fall behind, no?"

"I am not yours."

"Usually when people buy something, it becomes theirs."

"But you're speaking of things. Inanimate objects. I'm not..."

"Of course you are. Look at you. You're helpless as a newborn kitten. I'll bet Layla had to help you into your dress."

She blushed bright red. "I would've done it myself!"

"Of course," the Earl said sarcastically. "And you would have found the theater by yourself as well?"

"Why don't you ask your sister to be your star instead?" she bit out. "Why me?"

She heard the Earl gasp. "Where did you hear about..."

The Earl was looking so pale that Charlotte immediately felt guilty. His sister must have run away from him, or something similar. He was shaking.

If this was how he treated all his stars, then Charlotte wouldn't even blame Beatrice. Still..."Earl Aethelburg?"

He put his hands on a table and seemed to be trying to pull himself back together.

"Earl?"

Finally he looked up. "You and I will be attending a party two weeks from now. I want you to polish up your manners by then. It will be held at the Earl Phantomhive's estate and if you disgrace me, I will make you very sorry."

This was such a drastic change from the Earl from two seconds ago that Charlotte flinched.

"Henry will take you back to the house. Good day, Miss Wagner."

* * *

Charlotte would've argued with him on that final matter but a churn in her stomach reminded her that she had neglected her breakfast. "Good Lord," she muttered as she stomped to the door but stopped inches away from it to take a better look at this room that also belonged to her.

It had a large mirror on the wall across from her, a dressing table in front of the mirror, a folding screen to its right and a small bed to the left. There was a lot of free space left so she figured that some pieces of furniture were missing.

Flustered, she pursed her lips and rushed outside. She hoped Henry was still waiting with the carriage. As she was avoiding Alcott, who was looking over the workers, she bumped into someone. The collision made both of them fall, along with what the other person was carrying—apparently wooden planks. Charlotte could tell, for one hit her head, while a couple others were lying around her.

The sudden noise made everything else silent. Charlotte crouched on the floor, rubbing her head, forgetting she was now a decent lady. "I'm so very sorry!" the poor man apologized upon realizing who the other party involved in the accident was. "I'm so very sorry, Miss Wagner!"

Charlotte still had the strength to smile up at him, although she was a little dizzy. "Charlotte!" Alcott desperately called as he rushed towards her. "Charlotte! Dear Lord!" He put a hand on her back to help her up. "Are you all right?" She refused his help, crawling away from him. This angered him a bit but it also gave him the opportunity to accuse the young man of the unfortunate incident.

"You! You had better watch where you're going! I'm not paying you to hurt my performers. Get out! Get out this very instant!" He pointed with his cane at the entrance.

The poor man, at most in his twenties, was on the verge of crying, "I beg of you, my Lord, don't throw me out!" He took off his cap and wrung his hands. "A thousand apologies! It will never happen again!"

"Of course it will not! Get out!" Alcott thundered again, kicking the man. But before he could deliver another foot to the man's back, two small hands wrapped around his ankle. His eyes widened in shock. "Charlotte..." He put his leg down and knelt next to her.

"Leave him alone, ok? It was my fault, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. Forgive him, for I am the one to blame."

Her humble demeanor made the Earl drop his guard. It reminded him so much of the sweet and kind Beatrice that he couldn't stay mad. Before he could even react, Charlotte stood up and began gathering the planks.

"Ah, Miss Wagner, please, you don't have to!" the poor man hurriedly said, suddenly remembering his duty. Charlotte ignored him and set a few planks on her shoulder.

"Where should I take these?" Everyone, including Alcott, was staring at her. She looked around confused then blurted, "What?"

Alcott rose to his feet with a smile, which he hid as he pulled his hat over his eyes. "Well, this is to be expected. You have probably helped at the circus with more than your acts."

"Obviously. I am not going to stand here all day," she bluntly stated.

"F-Follow me." The young man from before carrying the rest of the planks went ahead of her and dropped them near the stage. Charlotte did the same before dusting herself off.

The Earl was rather amused. After all, a well-dressed lady carrying wooden planks was a rare sight. He clapped his hands, almost laughing, "As much as I would love to have you around for longer, your stomach appears to disagree." Charlotte blushed, putting her hands on her belly. "Come. I'll escort you to the carriage."

She bowed, as a greeting, and walked to Alcott's side, who offered her his arm. She didn't take it this time. Outside, he opened the door to the carriage for her and helped her climb in. "Please forgive my little outburst from earlier. I will tell you about my sister when the time is right. Well, then, we shall meet at dinner." He shut the door and went back inside just as the carriage departed.

* * *

_~The first act will be continued with scene 3 on September 1st. Look forward to it~_

_What do you think about our story so far? Charlotte? Alcott? Like them? Dislike them? Don't be shy and voice your thoughts! You'll get a rose from Sebby :P_


	3. I Scene 3

_Hello :) Vincent Phantomhive will make an important appearance in this chapter. Yes, he's still alive, because this part of the story is set before his death. Those of you anxiously waiting for Sebastian to show up, please don't give up yet! He will show up, with a BANG! Look forward to it :D_

_Enjoy!_

_(Also, I have to mention my friend aeon fear too. :P Half of this story is her doing.)_

* * *

Scene 3

* * *

"Verdammtes..."

Charlotte mentally blessed her German tongue, for she could swear without Layla understanding her. "Please, Miss Charlotte, just a little longer!"

Layla finished tightening the corset and helped Charlotte into her dress. The girl kept her mouth wide open, to breathe. The corset was killing her. "I do not understand why I need one. Am I not thin enough?"

"It's proper etiquette," Layla responded, giving her a pair of velvet gloves.

"I will go eat. I believe I do not need these."

"Very well."

Charlotte descended with difficulty. She had yet to get used to the high heels she was made to wear. "Good morning!" Alcott greeted her cheerfully but she couldn't reply to his enthusiasm. Noticing that she was out of it, he asked with concern, "What's the matter?"

She snorted as she sat down, "What's the matter? I wonder how you can ask so casually what the matter is. For the past two weeks I've been tortured like a slave—which is, probably, to remind me my position in this household—and you wish to know what the matter is. Well, I have told you."

Alcott folded his paper and placed it on the table. "Are you displeased?"

"Yes!" she burst, "I am displeased. I have been kept in here like an animal at the zoo and your evil maid finds new ways of taming me every single day. I have to read a lot—but that I don't mind—I have to wear this monster of a corset, whose purpose I cannot understand. Wouldn't it be better to practice instead of walking around wrapped in this...thing?"

The Earl smiled as he took a sip from his tea, "You seem very talkative this morning."

"I am complaining," she mumbled, grabbing a sausage with her hand and harshly biting down on it. Layla gasped outraged.

"Miss Charlotte—"

"Shut up," the girl snapped.

"I do not want to turn you against me but I do want to remind you that tonight you will make your debut among nobles such as myself. Earl Phantomhive is a kind gentleman and although he might tolerate your behavior, there are many others who will not, so please—"

"I am not stupid. I might be ignorant, but definitely not stupid. I am well aware that this is not my world anymore and that I do not belong to it. I do not wish to make a fool of myself, either, so you may be at ease."

"We shall see."

Charlotte gulped down the tea to clear her throat and ordered another cup. Layla complied, quite unwillingly. Miss Charlotte was anything but a lady and she doubted the girl's intention of becoming one.

* * *

An old butler opened the door for Earl Aethelburg and his lady. Charlotte held his arm tightly, smiling. Her heart was beating very quickly, threatening to break her ribs. The Earl gave his hat and coat to the butler then helped the lady out of her capelet. Charlotte was wearing a red and black long sleeved dress, with a delicate ruby necklace and a small black hat on top of her complex hairstyle.

The other ladies were giving her odd looks but the host came to greet them personally, "Alcott! Welcome! The lady is Miss Charlotte Wagner, I presume."

"Indeed. Charlotte, this is Earl Vincent Phantomhive." She bowed to him with an uneasy smile gracing her lips. He took her hand and kissed it, making the girl blush.

"She is so young, Alcott! What a heinous heart you had, taking her away from her family." Alcott ignored the comment. "I know it is rude but may I ask how old you are?" His question was directed at Charlotte.

Charlotte hesitated, glancing at Alcott from the corner of her eye. He nodded his approval. "I will be fifteen on May 24th."

Earl Phantomhive made a surprised expression, "On the same day as the queen!" Alcott was also surprised, he had no idea about this little detail.

The same day as the queen...It was certainly a sign.

* * *

The entrance hall of Earl Phantomhive's mansion was similar in size to the Aethelburg's, but where the Aethelburg hall was dark, the Phantomhive hall was brightly lit. Expensive-looking chandeliers hung from the ceiling and the table was laden with exquisite food. The windows were almost floor to ceiling in length, opening out into a manicured garden. Charlotte's mouth hung open, drinking in the sight, when Alcott tapped her wrist.

"Charlotte. Stop gaping."

She looked up at him angrily, prepared with a smart retort, but the Earl Aethelburg was staring straight ahead and not even looking at her. She bit her lip. Once again, she was reminded of who she really was. No social status. Nothing.

He led her to a table, chatting amiably to the Earl Phantomhive. She didn't care to listen. The other ladies in the party were staring at her. Her dress. Her hair. Her jewelry. Charlotte heard the murmurs in the crowd. She knew they were talking about her.

Alcott drew out a chair for her. She paused, contemplating not sitting down, but then Alcott said, "Please."

She sat. Alcott was going to regret this.

"You are not enjoying yourself, Miss Charlotte?" the Earl Phantomhive suddenly said, engaging her in conversation.

"I-" Charlotte began. The Earl Phantomhive was looking at her so kindly that she felt she could not complain to this gentleman the way she did to Alcott. "I am-I am just unused to it, that's all."

"You would have time to get used to it," promised Alcott. "You will have to attend more events like this."

"Have to?" she exclaimed, outraged. "And does Layla have to do _that_to me again?"

"Well, seeing as you can't do it for yourself, yes."

"Alcott, don't be rude," the Earl Phantomhive reproved gently.

Alcott took a sip of his wine and didn't reply. It was at that moment that the music began, a soft melody that Charlotte couldn't recognize. A few pairs walked to the center of the ballroom to dance. Charlotte watched them, noting the steps, the way they moved.

It was easy. As a performer, she had to memorize more complicated steps than that. Her feet mimed the steps the women took.

"Would you like to dance, then?" Alcott said abruptly. She stared at him when he stood up and offered her his hand.

He had been watching her...

"Come, Charlotte. Show me that you can rise above all this."

Miffed, she took his hand. She did not know the music, but it didn't matter. As she rose, she noticed that the Earl Phantomhive was looking at them with a worried frown on his face.

On the other hand, Alcott was smiling. He swept her to the dance floor. "Do you know the name of this song?"

"No."

"It's the Blue Danube. By Strauss."

She was spun, her dress swirling around her in a heartwarming way. So pretty. As pretty as these women—no, prettier, in fact. She had to give grudging credit to Layla. For a moment, she almost thought that she could enjoy herself, a little.

"Back straight, Charlotte," Alcott murmured in her ear. "And it's considered rude to stare into your partner's face as you dance."

Charlotte stopped dancing, so suddenly that Alcott was taken aback. "Charlotte?"

"That again..." she hissed. "You are always so concerned with what I am supposed to do. What is proper. You forget who I am, and where I came from. You are trying to change me to suit your wishes. You may have bought me, but I do not have to belong to you. I am not a lady, and I never will be!"

"Charlotte—"

She had meant to stomp away, but the length of her dress prevented that. She tripped on her petticoat and fell to her side, too late for Alcott's grasping hands.

"Charlotte! Are you all right?"

Alcott was holding out his hand to her.

She gazed at his hand, uncomprehendingly. The other pairs were also staring. She thought she heard a woman giggle.

Well, that was it. She wouldn't tolerate being in this over-perfumed, stuffy room for a minute longer. She got to her feet, and stormed from the party.

* * *

Charlotte sat on a bench in the garden. Her cheeks were still warm from her humiliation.

It was utterly foolish of Alcott to have brought her here. How could she ever fit in?

The evening was cold, and she wished she had thought to gather her coat from the servant at the door. But then again she did not expect that she would make such a dramatic exit. She sneezed.

A coat was suddenly draped on her shoulders. She jumped.

"What the—?"

"That was quite the scene," Alcott said, lazily sinking down on her bench. "The society will be talking about it for years."

"I don't care."

"Well, if I had wanted you to make a memorable debut, you've just done it," Alcott continued. "Well done. Congratulations. Now they would all think you're a country hick who doesn't know a thing about proper manners."

His sarcasm stung. "I don't want to be a lady if it means that!"

"But you know," said a soft voice from the shadows, "Every woman is a lady."

"Vincent," breathed Alcott.

The Earl Phantomhive emerged from the darkness, smiling. "I must say that it was an experience to see that." He handed Charlotte her hat and coat.

Charlotte took the items. The anger had all gone out of her. Every woman was a lady? Was that why Alcott had been treating her so deferentially?

But she was not a lady. Her clothes hid the part of her that _was_like a country hick, an ignorant girl. Her speech, her demeanor, her etiquette...All of those pointed at her origins. She couldn't really blame that woman for laughing at her.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"That's all right," the Earl Phantomhive said, patting her head. "You will be fine."

But she was not fine. She began to cry, burying her face into her coat.

"Charlotte." Someone embraced her, holding her close to their body. An amazing sensation of warmth. She stopped crying, she was so surprised.

The one hugging her was not the Earl Vincent Phantomhive, but Alcott. She had to give it to him, he knew just where to touch her in the ways that didn't make her feel uncomfortable. He rocked her backwards and forward.

Did he...hug his sister like this, too?

She was a woman. Yes, she had been sold, but what good would it do to dwell on it? The Earl Phantomhive was right. A woman and a lady-that's what she would become. That was who she was now. A lady was not so weak.

She was not so weak.

She felt immediately cheered up by the prospect. She wasn't weak and she would survive. A lady. A lady.

"You'll be going then?" Vincent inquired.

"At once," Alcott agreed, letting Charlotte go. "Please make my excuses."

"Of course."

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Vincent," Alcott said sincerely.

"It was a good show," Vincent said, waving his apology off. "It would be good for them to realize what London society is really like."

There was something hidden in those words, but Charlotte didn't know what. "Thank you," she told the Earl Phantomhive.

"It was nothing, dear. Do come again."

She nodded, then blushed furiously when he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.

"Till the next time, then."

* * *

"Charlotte, it would be good if you don't develop a girlish liking to the Earl Phantomhive."

"What?"

They were now back into the carriage and riding to the Aethelburg manor. Alcott's face was the picture of amusement. "He's married. He has a wife and a very cute little son."

Well, it was too much to hope that such a gentleman would remain single. But still, he was kind to her. And he gave her something to hold on to.

Every woman is a lady...

"Don't worry, though. You're also very cute."

"You—!" Charlotte began. "You're not cute at all! So unlike your sister!"

"My sister?" There was that cold tone again. "Yes. I suppose I am not like her."

"I-I'm sorry..."

"It's all right. I did promise to tell you about her. Might as well be today." Alcott stared out of the window and into the night. "She was the star of the theater before you and extremely talented. Everyone seemed to rally around her. Charming, sweet, kind. She was all of these things."

And you loved her very much, Charlotte realized. "What happened?"

Alcott's voice was flat. "She died."

Charlotte gasped. "H-How?"

"She was murdered. Along with my father."

"That's...horrible..."

And it was. For all her life, Charlotte had not lost someone dear to her, the way that Alcott lost them. Alcott's personality was slowly making sense.

"Isn't it?" the Earl Aethelburg's tone was hard and bitter. "However, I can't keep mourning forever. I still have a task to do, and that involves making the people who did this to her pay."

They sat in contemplative silence for the rest of the night. Once they had arrived at the manor, Alcott turned her over to Layla and disappeared to his room. He was looking distinctively unwell.

He always looked like that when he was talking about his sister.

"Alcott...I'm sorry."

But the words went by unheard.

* * *

Late that night, Alcott sat in his room, staring at the night sky. He couldn't call Charlotte's entrance to society a success, but it could've been worse. It was a good thing that Vincent was there.

"Charlotte..." he whispered. "Beatrice..."

He fingered the book on his table. It was the key to his revenge.

The title was Mephistopheles.

* * *

Charlotte woke up early the following morning, with refreshed spirits. When Layla came in, she greeted her cheerfully and jumped out of bed. The maid was more than surprised but she didn't mind. The girl was more willing to learn than before and even challenged Layla to make her the most beautiful lady of London.

"Oh my. That's quite the wishful thinking. May I ask what has caused this sudden change of attitude?" Layla inquired as she tightened Charlotte's corset.

Silence.

"I heard about Beatrice," she finally answered with reluctance.

Layla said nothing. After she finished with Charlotte, she escorted the girl to the dining room. Noticing Alcott's absence, Charlotte stopped at the entrance and looked around. "Where is..."

"The Earl does not wish to be disturbed," Layla promptly replied.

Charlotte walked to the table and sat down. A wave of guilt washed over her. What if he had got so mad at her that he didn't want to see her anymore? 'Impossible,' she told herself, 'he needs me.'

It was too quiet without him. She felt incredibly lonely, just like on the first day at the mansion. But she took advantage of this opportunity to have Layla teach her proper eating manners and thus, the breakfast lasted more than usual.

At some point, Alcott descended to the hall, prepared to go out. He would have left without an explanation, had Charlotte not been so concerned about him. She rushed to the hall as soon as she heard his voice call Henry.

"Earl!" He was just putting on his hat when she burst into the hall.

"Good morning to you too, Charlotte."

She bowed, then continued, "Why...have you refused to eat breakfast?"

"That is a pointless question." He grabbed his cane and arranged his coat.

"Then, are you mad at me?"

He blinked, confused by her worrisome countenance. She looked at him strangely, as if begging for forgiveness with her eyes. He was touched by this unexpected emotional display and responded with a smile.

"No, I am not mad at you. Actually, I have thought it over last night and I have concluded that your little scene was not that harmful. After all, negative advertisement is still advertisement. If you make a good impression on your first show, your reputation will be cleared. Henry, shall we? If you'll excuse me."

Alcott bowed his head a little and left. Charlotte was beyond thrilled. She had found a way to redeem herself. "Ah!"

Charlotte's face lit up as a wonderful idea struck her. She climbed the stairs in a hurry, careful not to trip over dress, and entered the library. Those past two weeks she had spent most of her time in there, reading. Her fingers wandered over the spines of the books until they reached what she was looking for.

Layla was standing in the door frame, watching the young lady. "Here!" Charlotte exclaimed, holding up a book, "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland! It would be the perfect show!"

Layla didn't know whether to approve or disapprove. Instead, she announced she would make some tea while Charlotte sat on the comfortable armchair, in the library, reading Alice's Adventures in Wonderland once again.

* * *

Alcott dismissed Henry when they reached the London Bridge and walked across it by himself. Last night's lecture had had a strong impact on him. He realized that through Charlotte, he might raise his theatre from ashes but the same tragedy could happen again. He was weak, too weak to protect her and the theatre by himself. Too weak to seek out revenge all alone. He needed help.

Usually, people turn to God in such situations. But he couldn't. His purposes were selfish and evil, so unlike God.

He walked further, deep in thought. Before he knew it, he arrived in the East End, the poorest area of London. He ignored the naked children and fought off the beggars. He wasted his time wandering around aimlessly until nightfall. At some point, he stopped on a dark alley upon reaching a dead end.

The great Earl Aethelburg collapsed to his knees, cursing his lack of resolve and resources. He let out a loud cry towards the moon, releasing his anguished spirit. "Why?! What have I done wrong?! Why?!"

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he realized how useless he actually was, how far-fetched a goal he had established.

"Don't cry," a tender voice told him. His sobs stopped at once as a figure emerged from the darkness. He couldn't see it clearly, only its bright red eyes stood out in the black night.

"You are...you are...," stuttered he.

"I am whatever you want me to be, my lord," the voice replied. This time, he could see that it was a woman.

Alcott got to his feet with renewed hope. He dusted off his coat and held his cane straight. He touched the brim of his hat, hiding his eyes. "Eglantine—this shall be your name. The wild rose which will heal my wounds."

She knelt before him, "Your wish is my command."

* * *

Charlotte was alone the whole day. She felt rather bad about it. She wanted to share her plans with Alcott. On the other hand, she had enough time to think carefully about what the performance should be like and even asked Henry to take her to the theatre to check the stage.

From the looks of it, it was tall enough for trapeze acts and tightrope walking. Alcott had seen well to that. They could add colored lanterns and glittering decorations for a more magical effect. She even had Layla sketch a costume for her.

But she was frustrated that she couldn't get anything going without Alcott's consent. She feared he might not agree with her and that her intellectual efforts had been futile. She wanted to talk to him as soon as possible but she also wanted to present to him a flawless scheme.

Still, it didn't make up for Alcott's absence at lunch and dinner and breakfast the following morning. She was unexpectedly worried for him. What if the men who had ruined him before were still after him to bring him down completely? After her debut, his old enemies might rise again.

Charlotte went to sleep tormented by such thoughts and was disappointed to dine alone again in the morning. Layla kept her company while polishing her manners. The girl was focused on the 'lesson' but when she stretched out her hand to the cup of tea, she said, "Layla, I want more milk and less tea."

"But, Miss Charlotte, tea is—"

"I know how important tea is for the British," the girl interrupted her, "But I need milk to strengthen my bones. I have a small task for you. Find out which is the healthiest tea and prepare it for lunch or any other snack. From now on, I will have milk instead of tea every morning and evening."

"Very well," Layla nodded.

"Thank you," Charlotte smiled and sipped her tea gracefully.

The tranquility of her meal was, however, disturbed by the sudden appearance of the Earl. Charlotte had just finished eating when the footman announced the Earl's return. She jumped from her chair and dashed to the hall, where the butler was helping his master out of his coat.

"Oh, Charlotte, good morning. This is Eglantine," he introduced the woman next to him, "From today onwards she will be your personal maid, both here and at the theatre."

Charlotte's enthusiasm faltered, being slowly replaced by astonishment. What was this woman?

* * *

_Aaaand...the supernatural begins. _

_~The first act will be continued with scene 4 on September 8th. Tune in for it!~_

_As usual, I hope you've enjoyed reading and I wish you would express your opinions in the review box. Thank you in advance :3 _

_P.S.: Eglantine, or the sweet briar, is a kind of rose. A wild one you could say. According to the language of flowers (found on Wikipedia) it means 'a wound to heal'._


	4. I Scene 4

_Hello again! :D Thank you all for reading. Cute little Ciel will be making an appearance in this chapter, as well as his lovely mother. _

_As usual, I'll have to mention my friend aeon fear and thank her for all her amazing contribution._

_Now, darlings, let the show begin!_

* * *

Scene 4

* * *

Eglantine had short, dark brown hair. She was tall, almost as tall as Alcott, and her skin was porcelain white. Charlotte couldn't reconcile her image with that of a maid. She seemed much too beautiful. And her eyes...

One of Eglantine's eyes was covered with an eye patch. The other eye was of a deep blue shade, surveying Charlotte carefully.

"Charlotte?" Alcott prompted.

She jumped slightly. She realized she had been staring at Eglantine for too long.

"Hello. I'm Charlotte Wagner."

Eglantine bowed to her formally. "I am at you service, Miss Wagner."

Charlotte looked at Alcott, questions burning on her lips. Where did he pick Eglantine up? Where had he been the past couple of days? Was he all right? Had he been visiting Beatrice? What about the theater?

"Alcott—"

"I would be at the theater," he said, his voice impassive. "I have been neglecting my work...Eglantine would be in charge of you." He turned and swept out the dining hall.

"Master, breakfast—" Layla began.

"Neglecting your work? But where have you been these past two days?" Charlotte cut in.

"Charlotte." His voice was icy. "That doesn't concern you."

She was rendered speechless for a moment. How could he say that, after all the things that he had shared with her? A hug, a sad story, a theater, a house. A party, a dance, a warm coat. A smile. Then those things were nothing?

Alcott waited to see if she would say anything more, and when she didn't, he walked away.

Charlotte regained her senses. "Wait!"

"What is it?" His eyes were lifeless.

"If...If it's possible, can I have an hour of your time tonight? I-I want to discuss the theater...a play. For the first show. It's going to be less than two months from now, isn't it?"

For a second, it seemed that Alcott almost smiled. At least, he seemed to unfreeze a little. "Very well."

* * *

Apparently, there had been only two servants in the household since Beatrice and Alcott's father died. Henry was the main butler, while Layla was in charge of all the household chores. It had been hard on Layla to double as Charlotte's attendant. Now that Eglantine was there, it would be much easier.

On the household servants, that is.

But on Charlotte...

Their lessons started after breakfast. Charlotte was surprised. She would have thought that Eglantine would want some time to settle in. Eglantine seemed a woman of a few words, as well.

"Where are you from, Eglantine?"

"I was in Egypt, before."

"Egypt?" How exotic. "You travel?"

Eglantine nodded. "Then Master Alcott called me."

"Called you?"

"I am to serve him until he dies."

"Don't say things like that!" Charlotte exclaimed, horrified. "How can you speak so easily of his death?"

Eglantine cocked her head at her. "Ah, but isn't that what servants do?"

"Usually they say, 'I will serve him until I die', not until the Master dies."

The maid shook her head. "I will not die before he does."

'Where did you get her, Alcott?' Charlotte thought with a shudder, 'This person is creepy!'

The maid smiled, as if she knew what Charlotte was thinking. "Well then, Lady Charlotte, shall we begin the lessons?"

"Layla already taught me..."

"What did she teach you?"

"Etiquette. She's also made me read a lot of books..."

Eglantine shook her head. "That will not be enough." The maid patted the stack of books next to her. "As a young lady of the Earl's household, you must be educated in at least two other languages—"

"I already know German and English—"

Eglantine talked over her, "...and how to entertain guests as a hostess of a party. I would teach you how to ride a horse properly. Dances, too. You would be offered gifts, sometimes from married men, and you must learn to accept them graciously without actually committing anything. My Lady."

Maybe she got just a little bit more than what she bargained for when she decided to become a proper lady... Charlotte sighed. Instead she peered at the books that Eglantine had gotten for her. Her eyes bugged wide.

She had thought that the books were only stacked on top of the table, but in reality, they were stacked from the floor up! Each pile was about four feet high...and there were several dozen of them...how did Eglantine prepare so many books when she had only arrived at the Aethelburg manor three hours ago?

"I'm not going to read all that, am I?"

"Not in one sitting, no."

"You can't be serious. I like reading but the opening of the play is coming up and I—"

"Master Alcott has told me to accommodate you and I will."

"What about the play?"

"We will do that, too."

Charlotte could see that there was no budging her. She really would have to ask Alcott where he got Eglantine...not that he was above to practically kidnapping young women, since Charlotte was there. But Eglantine seemed to be willing enough to stay by Alcott's side...

"Well then, my lady," Eglantine began pleasantly. "Shall we begin?"

Something told Charlotte that Eglantine was going to be worse than Layla.

But it was Charlotte's decision to be a lady. Come what may, she was going to stand by her decision. She smiled at Eglantine, finally letting go of the ghosts of her past. She was here now, in London, as Charlotte Wagner. Star of Alcott's theater.

"Of course."

* * *

Alcott had thought that Charlotte would be asleep when he came home. It was after midnight, after all.

So he was rather startled to see her in his office, wearing a bathrobe and slippers. He put his hat on the table.

"Charlotte? What are you still doing up?"

"I told you I wanted to talk."

"Yes, but shouldn't you be asleep?"

"I don't think we have enough time for that...the theater will open soon."

So it was that. "I see. You wanted to discuss the play?"

"Yes." There was a light in Charlotte's eyes that reminded him so strongly of Beatrice that he had to look away. "I was thinking of Alice in Wonderland."

"Alice?"

"Yes. I've already talked to the other actors. All it needs is your approval."

"Do you even know how to coordinate a play? It's different from a circus act."

"I can't see why not," she argued. "I've already told the others. They said we could do it if you agreed."

For a moment, he contemplated not giving in. A playful smirk traced itself across his features.

"There!" Charlotte was pointing her finger at him triumphantly. "I'm sure that was a smile!"

Alcott frowned. "Charlotte? What are you talking about?"

She twisted her fingers together anxiously. "I...when you disappeared, I was worried. I thought you might have been sad by yourself—you were different after talking about your sister. You didn't come home. I'm relieved that you...you seem fine now."

Alcott was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Her kindness towards him was also like Beatrice. It hurt. He struggled to compose himself. At last he chuckled.

"Even though I took you away from your family, you would say this?"

She looked much the same way as she did when she tripped over her dress at the Phantomhive's party—white, stunned. "I just-"

He held up his hand. "I understand." He stood up, and kissed her on the forehead. "Thank you for your concern, Beatrice."

He felt her stiffen underneath her. It was only then that he realized he made a mistake. He called her Beatrice. Mistake. Beatrice wasn't coming back.

Ever.

But then again, wasn't that why he bought Charlotte? Wasn't that why he sold his soul to Eglantine?

"I apologize," he said smoothly. "I would help you coordinate the play. Please focus on learning your lines. I actually knew of your plans beforehand, because the other actors at the play told me. They're impressed with how you took over things in my absence."

Charlotte blushed at his compliment.

"We are regular customers of several haberdasheries, that's where we get the costumes from. They will take care of the costumes for the play. I've already sent your measurements to them, and also that of the cast. I also arranged for the music, the lights, and the scenery that will be used as a background for the play. We're still hiring workers for it. Rehearsals will start a week from now, for tomorrow you and the actors would discuss the play itself. Everyone will work hard. Of course, that includes you, Charlotte."

She stared at him. It was obvious that she didn't expect this level of approval from him. He smiled again.

"What is it, Charlotte? Don't tell me that Eglantine already wore you out—it's only been a day."

"Of course not...but I did want to talk about Eglantine, too."

"Hmm?"

"Where is she from, Alcott? She's so strange..."

"I hope that you meant that in a good way. She was recommended to me, of sorts."

She looked mystified. "By who?"

"An old friend." He stood, unwilling to talk any more about Eglantine. He had to be careful to keep it from Charlotte. "Would that be all?"

"Oh...yes."

"Well, then. Good night, Charlotte."

"Good night, Alcott."

He nodded. He had reached the door when he remembered something.

"Charlotte?"

"Yes?"

"It might be too late to say this when you've been here two weeks but...Welcome to London."

She smiled hesitantly. "Thank you."

* * *

The preparations for the play kept Charlotte busy for the next month and half. Alcott assisted her in every way, sometimes correcting her when she forgot something. It was harder than she had thought to coordinate the play. She had to teach everyone how to do the balancing acts required.

Soon, an advertisement in the paper appeared, announcing the opening of the Phoenix Theater with the play "Alice in Wonderland." It would feature a circus-like atmosphere, led by Miss Charlotte Wagner. London society would welcome her debut.

"Honestly, this much pressure...," she complained to Alcott the evening before the play. "It seems like everyone's watching me."

"You are a performer," Alcott pointed out. They were riding home after the final dress rehearsal. "Shouldn't you be used to being looked at?"

"Yes. It's somehow different, though."

"You would get used to it." Alcott seemed sure.

"Of course I will." Charlotte said confidently.

"Ah. It wasn't that long ago when you would contest that statement. I'm glad you accept it now."

"I would have to, living with you like this." It was almost hard to believe that she had been in London for three months now. Spring was coming.

"That's true. In fact, everyone who's anyone in the London society will attend. The Earl Phantomhive will be there, with his family."

She would see the Earl again? That would be nice…"I'll get to see his cute little son, then."

Alcott nodded, "And his beautiful wife. Maybe that will change your mind about him." The girl ignored his comment so he continued, "You have done very well this time, managing the play. But from this day onwards, I will take care of all the technical details and Eglantine will help coordinate the play. You just focus on your studies and training."

Charlotte said nothing. Whoever this Eglantine was, she must have been a very competent woman.

* * *

Layla had already finished making dinner when Charlotte and Alcott arrived to the mansion. She glanced at Eglantine, secretly seeking her approval. The new maid was quite demanding but also very skilled. Layla admired and respected her, although she felt useless whenever she stood next to her.

Charlotte stretched her arms above her head as she was walking towards the dining hall. Alcott held the chair for her then sat to her left. Or rather, she sat to his right, for he was the head of the family and had the whole table spread in front of him.

Neither of them spoke during the meal and once they were done, Eglantine accompanied Charlotte to her room and helped the girl out of her dress. Charlotte was unusually quiet. Eglantine noticed this and asked, "Are you nervous? About tomorrow's performance?"

Charlotte bit her lip, crossing her arms over her chest. "Nervous? Yes. No, I don't know. It's not nervousness, it's..."

"Anxiety?" Eglantine continued.

"Is it worse than nervousness?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Then it is anxiety," Charlotte concluded.

She collapsed on her bed just as Layla knocked on the door, bringing the cup of hot milk which Charlotte had requested. Eglantine took it to her mistress and watched, quite surprised, as Charlotte drank it all at once. It wasn't a proper habit of a lady but Eglantine tolerated it because it was useful to Charlotte the performer.

"Thank you, you can leave now," Charlotte told the maids as she slipped under her blanket. Eglantine bowed and took the candles before leaving.

The darkness was comforting. Charlotte closed her eyes but with no intention to sleep. She had to focus on calming down first, otherwise she'd have nightmares. And if she had nightmares, she wouldn't be able to rest—which was absolutely crucial.

Just when she got used to the stillness, a knock on the door perturbed the silence. She was so surprised that her heart began to pound. "Who is it?" she asked, glancing towards the door. It creaked as it was opened and a ray of dim light invaded the room. It was Alcott.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you. Were you already asleep?"

She sat up, shaking her head. Alcott smiled, "Good."

He put the candle holder on the bedside table and knelt near the bed. "What do you want?" she questioned, rubbing her eyes.

"I knew you would be tormented by thoughts about tomorrow so I figured I should come help you out." The girl yawned lazily and didn't care about her 'proper attitude' anymore. She never did while she was in her room. Alcott didn't mind. In fact, this intimacy made him feel...better.

"So what do you have in mind?"

"Well..." He stood up and sat on the edge of the bed, locking gazes with her. He crawled closer and wrapped her in a hug, resting his chin atop her head. He could hear her heart beat faster. "I believe in you. All that's left is for you to believe in yourself as well. You can do it, Charlotte. You will do it."

His voice was no louder than a whisper. The girl pulled back slowly to look at his face. Alcott was smiling, so warmly. "Sleep well," he told her at last and kissed her forehead with such tenderness that she kept staring forwards even after he left. Finally, she lay back down and dared to sleep.

"I can do it," she murmured just before she got lost in a beautiful dream.

* * *

Just as Alcott had predicted, The Phoenix theatre was brimming with people. The gentlemen and ladies were served with champagne in the entrance hall before going inside to occupy their seats. Earl Aethelburg was greeting actors and nobles, old friends and new acquaintances, among which the Earl Phantomhive also stood.

"Alcott! It's been a while."

The men shook their hands then Alcott kissed Lady Phantomhive's hand.

"It's so good to see you all here," Alcott began, "and thank you, Vincent, for helping me arrange the copyrights. Will he be here?"

"Lewis Carroll? No. Why would he come all the way to London just for a play? So where's our star?" Earl Phantomhive merrily changed the subject.

"Oh, Charlotte is in her cabin, getting ready. Champagne?" Alcott offered just as Layla was passing by, holding a tray with glasses.

"No, thank you. We should go to our seats."

"Of course."

Alcott led the Phantomhive family to their lodge where he also sat. "Shouldn't you be there, with her?" Vincent asked.

Alcott smiled, "No. I would only make her more nervous. Besides, she has her maid with her."

"But I saw Layla in the hall-"

"Not that one," Alcott interrupted. "Well. It is time."

Alcott stood up and cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, please, please take your seats!" The crowd murmured for a few seconds longer but then everything went quiet. "Thank you! Thank you for coming tonight to the first show of my reborn theatre! Please, enjoy yourselves!"

And with that, the lights went out. The curtain began to make way for the stage. The audience gasped, seeing the circus-like ring. "Impressive," Earl Phantomhive whispered.

There were huge flowers covering the ground and embellished trapezes hanging from the high ceiling. There were tightropes stretched all over the place and a forest painted on the background.

Suddenly, a scream caught everyone's attention and they saw Charlotte fall from the ceiling. She landed on one of the flowers and said, "Well, after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling downstairs!"

They laughed. Although Charlotte was dressed nicely, in a blue frock, her hair was a mess and her expression was so funny.

"Ah!"

Charlotte—or rather, Alice—noticed a pretty little bottle with a 'Drink Me' tag hanging from one of the trapeze bars. She jumped from the flower—which was actually a trampoline—on a tightrope and walked towards the bottle. She grabbed it and examined it curiously. In the end, she decided to gulp down the contents of the bottle. A frown adorned her face but after a short while, she threw the empty bottle over her shoulder and jumped on the trapeze.

She was standing on the trapeze bar, waiting for something to happen. As nothing did, she sat down and began to move. "Which way? Which way?" the girl said to herself. "Over the—" She had decided to spring forward but a very strange individual bumped into her, throwing her off the trapeze. She made such an amusing angry face that the audience laughed again.

"Whoa!" the little Ciel clapped his hands, "She is so cute!"

"Do you like it, dear?" his mother kindly asked him.

"Yes!"

The boy watched the whole show with a very happy smile plastered on his face. He marveled at the wonders that this Alice could make, jumping around in the air, flying like a bird and being so funny!

"Alice was great!" he told his parents once the play was over.

"Would you like to meet her?" Alcott offered.

"Can I?"

"Of course."

"I would love to!"

Alcott took the boy's hand and, followed closely by the Phantomhives, led him to Charlotte's room. The actors were walking to and fro in a haze. Ciel was a little scared by this commotion but Alcott took the boy in his arms as he knocked on Charlotte's door.

"Charlotte! You have a guest."

Eglantine opened the door, letting the 'guests' in.

"Hello!" Charlotte cheerfully greeted them. She was happy because the play had been a success. She was also happy to see the Earl Phantomhive again.

"Hello, Charlotte! Congratulations! It was wonderful." Vincent kissed her hand and introduced her to his family, "This is my wife, Rachel." The two women curtseyed to each other, "And my son, Ciel."

Ciel blushed, still in Alcott's arms. "Hello there, Ciel. I'm Charlotte. Or Alice." She tousled his hair. "What could I do for you?"

Ciel looked away and his eyes fell on some papers on Charlotte's dressing table. The girl followed his gaze to the table and grabbed a piece of paper. "Eglantine, I need a pen, please." The maid complied and Charlotte signed the paper, with a beautifully written 'Lottie'.

"Here." Ciel took it with reluctance. "I hope to see you again, ok?" His expression lit up like a candle and he nodded fervently.

"Yes!"

Everyone smiled, especially Ciel and Charlotte. On the other hand, Vincent and Alcott seemed to be conflicting. Only Eglantine noticed this, though, and grinned slyly. 'Here we go...'

* * *

_~The first act will be continued with scene 5 on the 15th. The plot thickens so make sure to read it!~_

_I hope you have enjoyed reading. What do you, lovely readers, think of our story so far? I'm truly curious so please let me know through a review! Also, just in case you were worrying, Sebastian WILL be in this story. Be a bit more patient._

_Thank you!_

_PS: doesn't that review box look too empty? *nudgenudge* _


	5. I Scene 5

_Hello again, my lovely readers! Vincent will reveal the truth about himself, and Alcott, in this chapter. Poor Charlotte...what is she going to do? Read to find out!_

_Also, another shout-out for aeon fear! Thank you, my friend! :) _

* * *

Scene 5

* * *

~August, 1884~

The morning's glass of milk came with the newspaper. The wrinkles indicated that it had been perused before.

"Where is Alcott?" Charlotte wished to know.

"He went to the theater," Eglantine said simply, laying out her breakfast efficiently. "There were nobles who wanted to buy more of the exclusive boxes."

Charlotte grabbed the newspaper with a casual flick of her wrist. The Phoenix Theater was the most popular vaudeville theater in the area. It was hard to believe that it had only been little than a year.

"I'll go join him," Charlotte announced. "We have a new play coming out. We need to practice."

"It's the Little Mermaid, isn't it?"

"Yes. It requires a lot of rehearsal, especially the underwater scenes."

Eglantine nodded. "The costumes are due to arrive today, My Lady."

"…" Charlotte couldn't guess how the mysterious maid could've known about the delivery when, in as far as she knew, there had been no messenger from the shop yet. The dresses weren't supposed to be due before next week.

It was unfailing. Charlotte had doubted Eglantine's information the first few times, but the maid's information had been always accurate.

She had tried to confirm the veracity of Eglantine's reports by following her. It had never succeeded. If she didn't know any better, Charlotte would've sworn that Eglantine somehow knew when Charlotte would decide to follow her. By now Charlotte knew that it was fruitless to try to follow Eglantine.

The maid was looking at her again, like that moment when they first met and Charlotte had stared at her for too long. Charlotte remembered that she was supposed to make some reply to Eglantine's statement.

"Oh…Oh, I see. That's good. We'd better get going then. Are the horses ready?"

"Yes, My Lady."

She strode briskly to the hall. Sunshine now poured through the wide windows of the Aethelburg manor, so different from the dusky darkness of her first arrival. She had stipulated that there should be natural light in the house. Just like she had required her milk instead of tea and how she had outfitted one of the unused rooms as her practice studio.

Part of her felt slightly guilty that Alcott always let her have what she wanted—needed—said she needed. He listened to her so very carefully, but Charlotte was feeling a vague sense of unease at the way he indulged her.

When she'd pointed it out to him, he had simply said, "But you are my star. Why shouldn't I spoil you a little?"

And she'd blushed.

In the days since she's known him, Alcott's behavior was both confusing and tender, somehow merging so perfectly that she was left breathless in its midst. He never talked about his family again since that night in the carriage, but sometimes the way that Alcott looked at her made her wonder if he saw her, or saw his sister.

It wasn't as if she hadn't had her own accomplishments to be proud of. She didn't know what her family would think of her now, the star of a London theater. She had money, a home, her very own maid. She had risen so far above the Charlotte Wagner of the Wagner Zirkus that she almost wouldn't recognize herself.

Almost.

Time and time again she felt that the glamour of her theater life was just that—a lie fabricated. When the ladies of London looked at her, she thought she saw judgment in their eyes. Who was she? A pretender trying to become one of them.

But she had always been good at pretending. She was an actress after all, and when she doubted herself, she let the Earl Phantomhive's words come back to her.

"Every woman is a lady."

And, the words Alcott had uttered to her that night before her first performance:

"You can do it."

Still, sometimes she felt like she was tiptoeing through her life, in fragile glass.

* * *

The carriage halted just outside the theater. She let Henry assist her in getting out—since Eglantine was not with her today, she had to manage on her own. True to the maid's word, the costumes had arrived today. The other members of the play were not donning them on yet—the director wanted one last rehearsal without the costumes.

She changed into the simple white outfit that had become her standard practice outfit. The rehearsals took a long time. They took a break at noon, where Charlotte ate with Alcott at Delmonico's across the street.

He seemed distracted today and when she asked, he told her that he was expecting a visitor, but he hadn't come yet.

"Oh? Another patron?"

"Of a sort, but not the kind you mean. He has some information I desperately need."

"What information—?"

The question seemed to pull Alcott back to the present.

"Nothing. It's just a trivial matter."

But there was a glint to his gray eyes that Charlotte didn't like.

* * *

Later, going back to the theater, they were greeted by a young man who was leaning against the doors. He had blond hair and was staring up at the sky, but when they approached, the man lowered his head to peer at them.

"You're late," Alcott said, no inflection in his voice.

The man had sky blue eyes and a scruffy appearance, as he was wearing little more than a hat, a white shirt, a jacket, trousers and shoes. There was a day's growth of beard on his chin.

"I'm not used to getting up before noon."

"Charlotte." Alcott pushed the small of her back. "Get back inside."

So this was the visitor Alcott was waiting for. Certainly, a shady character. She spared him one last glance before she nodded and entered the doors.

Who was he? First Eglantine, then that young man…

Clearly something suspicious was going on.

* * *

"Madame Ernestine," Charlotte gasped, "Am I supposed to be able to breathe?"

The directress of the play shook her head.

"Oh," Charlotte squeaked. "Then the costume is perfect."

Several actresses tittered in amusement. Charlotte glared at them before she stretched her arms in exercise, preparing for the first movement of the underwater "meeting" between the sea-witch and the little mermaid. Her dress was a glittery shade of blue-green, so beautiful, but a bit tighter than what she was used to. Charlotte hoped that she wasn't getting fat. All the shape-defying corsets she wore must have had some sort of compensation—like an hourglass figure.

At the first break in the rehearsal, Charlotte excused herself to go to her room. The hairpins she wore were coming loose, and she needed time to replace them.

She was just about to return to the rehearsal when she spotted Eglantine entering Alcott's office. She raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. Why was Eglantine here? Could there be something going on between the maid and the master of the house? That would explain a lot…

But then the blond man went out of the room, with a slight nod to Eglantine as he passed her. They seemed to know each other, for Eglantine also nodded in return. Curious.

The man walked by her dressing-room with hardly a glance at her. Charlotte realized with a jolt of excitement that this was her chance to find out about Alcott's visitor. She removed the last of her pins, put on a long cloak over her mermaid costume, a hat over her loose hair, and followed the blond man as he exited the theater.

* * *

There was no reason for it, really. It was just an impulse. Besides, Alcott knew everything about her. Why shouldn't she be allowed the same courtesy?

That man walked fast. She was thankful that he didn't hail a cab, but then wondered why he didn't bother to. She reasoned that his destination must be near. She nearly collided with a carriage when she tried to cross the street. As she reached the other side, she looked around frantically for the man, but couldn't see him. She had lost him.

Charlotte muttered a soft curse under her breath. This was precisely the reason why she couldn't tail Eglantine. In the crush of Londoners, it was easy to lose someone.

She had nothing left to do but to turn back.

She turned around, intending to do just that, when she bumped into a solid chest. Charlotte stepped backward instinctively.

"Sorry."

"You really should be more careful."

The man she had bumped with was as tall as Alcott, with dark brown eyes and longish brown hair. Ordinary looks, but he had a lean, slender body that she somehow associated with a fighter's physique. The man leered at her unpleasantly and she took another step backward.

"I'm sorry," she muttered again. She had to get back. Her instincts screamed that this man was dangerous.

His brown eyes glinted mischievously. "Forgiven, my Lady. I think I know you…ah, yes." The man smiled in a way that indicated that he just remembered something important. "Miss Charlotte Wagner, of the Phoenix theater?"

"I…yes." Could she have denied it?

She looked around discreetly. She was in the West End of London. The theater was fifteen minutes away on foot.

She had to get away.

"I think I must escort you back."

"No, thank you."

The man grinned. "I'll be gentle."

"No, I—"

His hand shot out to grab her, and she let out a yelp of surprise. She twisted away, sunshiny green lights bouncing off her costume.

"You can't escape a mafia man, my Lady. That earl of yours …"

Mafia? Alcott?

Charlotte heard the hiss of a dagger being drawn. "You run away in the middle of a play or something?"

Thank God, it wasn't a gun. She could...escape, somehow. Hadn't Alcott said that she could take on one attacker with her skill? Something to that effect, when she first ventured to London.

The man lunged at her and Charlotte ducked, all the muscles of her long training coiling in tension. The man sailed past her, tripping over his feet, and Charlotte brought the heel of her hand upwards through the assailant's nose.

There was a crunching sound.

His howl of pain echoed through the walls. Then Charlotte was running, running, running, as fast as she could, as fast as she dared, to a wider street where she could call for a hansom. She had her hands over her ears to block out the man's screams. Was he going after her? What would she do if he did? No, there were a lot of people here—surely he wouldn't abduct her right out of the street. Surely she was safe.

Mafia. Alcott.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. What was that? What happened?

Something warm was on her hand. She looked at her right hand numbly. Blood. She had broken the man's nose, an act of desperation, of violence. She stumbled and nearly fell.

Suddenly there were hands steadying her. She gave a little scream of pure terror, ready to bolt, but her new acquaintance wasn't the mafia man.

"Are you all right, Charlotte?"

The Earl Phantomhive.

Charlotte stared, speechless with shock. Why was the Earl Phantomhive here?

"You're shaking. Are you lost?"

His voice was low and soothing. She could trust him...couldn't she?

"Let me take you to the theater."

A cab stopped in front of them. She got on, her voice quavering as the Earl ordered the driver to take them to the theater.

She didn't want to wipe her hand on her coat or costume. The costume was too pretty, and blood on the coat was too noticeable. Charlotte took deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Hysterics, she thought irrationally. She had to get a grip.

Who was that blond man? A mafia man, too? Why was Alcott with him? Was Eglantine—

Oh, Lord. What was Alcott involved in?

She couldn't go back to the theater.

"I—"

Her voice cracked and she hated it. How complicated everything had become, after trying to follow a stranger.

The Earl Phantomhive held out his handkerchief. She stared at it, not understanding what it was.

"For your hand," the Earl told her gently.

She nodded, but didn't make a move to take it. The earl sighed, and took her bloodied hand in his. He wiped it clean. The crimson liquid came off and she felt herself relax considerably.

"I'm sorry," Charlotte said. "I...your handkerchief..."

"Please don't worry about it," he said politely. "Far be it for me to ignore a damsel in distress. What happened?"

"Mafia...A-Alcott..."

The Earl gave her a sharp look. "You had an encounter with a Mafia man? How did you escape?"

"B-Broke his nose..."

To her surprise, the Earl smiled. "An accomplishment, I'm sure. You are an impressive lady, to escape him."

"What do you mean?"

The cab rattled on, to the Phoenix Theater. The Earl didn't lose his smile. "I know exactly what is going on. Alcott is involved with the Mafia, and you just had a meeting with one of the members."

"Alcott? A Mafia man?"

"What other explanation is there?"

"He...he could've been threatened." A feeble explanation.

The Earl shook his head. "Alcott is capable of defending his own. In fact you should be more worried about yourself."

"Me? Why?"

"Did you really think that the man would forget about you? You broke his nose after all."

Charlotte gasped. "He...knows my name. Where I live. Where I work."

"There you are, dear. You need protection. Additionally, I am on the verge of clapping the Mafia in irons. If Alcott is involved, the man who attacked you would sing like a canary. He would implicate you."

"I have nothing to do with this!"

"You know Alcott's secret," the Earl Phantomhive stated coldly. "That is enough."

Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself, to keep herself from shaking. This was a side of the Earl that she hadn't seen before. She never suspected...the gentle Earl...her friend... Ciel's father, Rachel's husband.

"Who are you?" Charlotte whispered, her head bowed.

"I am the Earl Vincent Phantomhive. The Queen's watchdog."

"The Queen?" Queen Victoria's? A play for power. A tool.

"And now you are my tool, too," the Earl mused. "I will let you go, if you would leak information about Alcott to me."

What?

* * *

The drive was taking too long. Charlotte was sure of it. It was supposed to be a few streets away. Why hadn't they arrived yet?

Charlotte's mind was jumbled. She couldn't think. It was hard to believe that less than half an hour ago, she was on stage, complaining about her costume.

"Alcott's motives aren't unknown," the Earl Phantomhive told her. "You would find it in your best interest to cooperate. It would be easy."

"Easy how?"

"Thanks to the attack, you know that he is involved with the Mafia. Tell him. He will be forced to tell you everything. Report back to me."

"You...are asking me to spy on Alcott?" She couldn't believe her ears.

"Of course."

She stared at him.

"You don't have to answer now," Vincent said with a sigh. "I imagine that you, on your own, would like to know what Alcott knows about the attack. However, your own curiosity would be your downfall in this case. If you don't ask him what his involvement with the Mafia is, that attacker will come for you and Alcott would be unable to help you. If you do ask him, you will be involved deeper in Mafia activities. So, which will it be?"

Before she could gather her wits, the carriage stopped. "Phoenix Theater," the driver announced.

They were here. But Charlotte couldn't make herself leave. It was a lot of things to take in.

"That blond man...," she mumbled.

"What is it?"

"I was following his visitor."

"A blond man?"

"Yes. Tall, but shorter than Alcott. Blue eyes, scruffy appearance—"

The Earl laughed. Laughed!

"I know him. He's not your enemy, but a mere neutral party. He's not involved with the Mafia—not a member, anyway. If you hadn't followed him...It's my deal you should be deciding on."

"But who is he? I want to know."

"An informant. It's most likely that you won't see him again. I suggest you not try to look for him."

"Is he a spy, too?"

"No, he has no allegiance to me. Or to anyone for that matter."

"Charlotte?"

Both of them turned to see Alcott peering at them through the carriage window. "I'm sorry to be so rude. Your driver said...Vincent? What is happening?"

The Earl Phantomhive stepped out, escorting Charlotte with his other hand. "I found your star wandering the streets. I thought I'd return her."

Though obviously confused, Alcott was courteous. "Thank you, Vincent. Charlotte, what on Earth were you thinking?"

"Sorry," she muttered.

"Come inside. The Directress Ernestine was completely hysterical when you disappeared. In full costume, no less."

"Don't be too harsh with her, Alcott. Thankfully nothing happened. She's safe now, and that's what matters. For now I must be going," the Earl said with another one of his smiles. "I will be looking forward to the new play—and I'm sure Ciel will be, too." He kissed the back of Charlotte's hand. "We'll be watching."

Oh, the double meaning behind those words, especially in the light of the Earl's proposal.

Spy.

"Thank you," Charlotte managed to say, dipping her head in an imitation of a curtsey.

* * *

Alcott and Charlotte watched the Earl climb into his carriage. As soon as he was gone, Alcott rounded on her. "Where have you been?"

"Where's Eglantine?"

"At home, as she has always been. Where have _you_ been?" he repeated.

Charlotte's hands clenched into fists, the same hands that had been stained with another man's blood a while ago. Lie. Liar. Alcott's enemies. The Mafia. Spy.

"We need to talk," Charlotte declared. "Let's go to your office."

* * *

Alcott closed the door behind Charlotte as soon as they were in his office. He asked her to take a seat but she refused and simply stood before his desk, her hands wrung together on her stomach.

"I'll be blunt," she suddenly said, turning to him. "Are you involved with the mafia?"

His eyes went wide as his lips sketched an incredulous smile. "What-What are you talking about, Charlotte?"

"I was attacked by a mafia man who mentioned your name."

"How do you know it was a mafia man?"

"He said so himself."

"You don't make any sense, Charlotte. You are probably tired. I'll talk to Madame Ernestine and have a carriage—"

"Alcott!" she yelled, frowning. "I know what I saw. And I certainly saw Eglantine enter this very room a short while ago. I broke someone's nose because they pointed a dagger at me! I could have been killed if I hadn't run into Earl Phantomhive. What if it happens again? What if next time I won't be as lucky?" He gulped as he stared in awe at her. "All your efforts will be in vain if you lose your star again."

Alcott was shivering. His eyes were so wide that Charlotte thought they might pop out. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead. He fell on his knees holding his head in his hands. "Alcott!" Charlotte rushed to his side, worried.

"I'll tell you...I'll tell you everything...But promise me, promise me you will listen to me carefully and do as I say."

He slowly looked up at her and their gazes met. She nodded with a gulp. A bitter taste of guilt built up in the back of her mouth, remembering Vincent's words. What to do, what to do?

* * *

_~The first scene of the second act will be posted on the 22nd. Sebastian will finally show up so make sure to read it!~_

_Ahem...The trouble is about to begin...Sorry for the long preamble. But things will get exciting from now on, I promise! The M rating will be explained as well. Ahem. _

_Anyway, do let us know how you like our story! I'm eager to hear your comments and opinions :D_


	6. Act 2, Scene 1

_Aaaaand, he's here! Hello to you all! Thank you for putting up with me so far, your patience will finally be rewarded. Sebastian is indeed a very convincing man :) I hope you enjoy reading_

_Also, don't forget about my friend, aeon fear! :D_

* * *

_**Act 2**_

* * *

Scene 1

* * *

~May, 1885~

Charlotte was sleeping soundly after a night full of trouble. Although Eglantine—who had proved to be an extremely skilled fighter—had been with her, Charlotte still had had a lot of running and fighting to do—more so than usually. The attackers had chosen that specific night because they had wanted to give her a nice birthday present: a bullet in the head or a dagger through the heart.

In spite of all that, she was still able to sleep. Alcott stood by the door and watched her with unconcealed admiration. He was surprised by his own feelings. When he had first seen her, he had thought of her as the perfect tool for his new purposes. But in time, he had got to know her better and her determination amazed him. She was reliable and caring and willing to learn.

Eglantine had turned her into a beautiful lady, well-suited for the Londonese society, although there still were some noble women who refused to approve of her.

But it had nothing to do with what he felt. He liked the behind-the-scenes Charlotte, who drank a whole cup of milk at once and licked her lips like a child. The Charlotte who practiced by herself in her studio, in her own way, and brightened his days with her infantile and country-esque descriptions of her activities. The Charlotte who complained about her clothes and made silly imitations of the arrogant ladies. He regretted having involved her in his dirty business and feared for her safety every single day.

He had come to her room to make sure he was the first to wish her happy birthday but she was smiling so happily in her sleep that he didn't have the heart to wake her. Even so, he couldn't help sitting on her bed, leaning over her, and softly whispering in her ear, "Happy birthday."

She shifted beneath him, opening her eyes slightly. Smile, she told herself upon seeing Alcott hover above her. He had been curiously attentive to her lately which made her feel very bad. After all, she was a traitor. She was abusing his trust to get intelligence on him and leak it to Earl Phantomhive. I'm awful, she often thought, for being such a liar.

Truth be told, ever since that August afternoon, Charlotte had been a different person. Alcott had admitted about being involved with the mafia and he had warned her about the dangers she might face.

Indeed, just like he had predicted, she'd had to deal with many assailants who only wished for one thing: ruining Alcott's life. It had thus become a personal matter. Why would she be targeted in his stead? The mafia were cowards. This situation had determined her final decision: she would spy on Alcott and his business for Earl Phantomhive in order to get rid of their cowardly enemies.

Little did she know what she had actually got herself into. Being a spy was no easy job. She couldn't be herself anymore. Although she acted like the perfect lady when outside the manor, she also had to act in her spare time, mostly around Alcott. She had to be careful and keep track of her lies.

She didn't talk so much anymore, spending time alone regularly (during which she let herself cry and damn her life). She was generally depressed but managed to hide her sadness well. She had ceased drinking, from fear of getting drunk and slipping up. She'd become overly careful, observant and cautious, confused about her own self, and even paranoid.

She'd learnt to rely on her gut and make people slip up without them even noticing. She'd specialized herself in secret meetings, information stealing and quick thinking but the emotional pressure looming over her was slowly eating at her.

That was why, as Alcott lay over her, with such a charming expression on his face, she forced herself to smile instead of cry.

"Thank you," she muttered, beginning to sit up. Alcott resumed his spot near her bed and held out his fist then opened it up and let a necklace hang from his fingers. Charlotte looked at it agape, her eyes beaming with gratitude. "It's so beautiful!"

"I'm glad you like it."

She turned with her back at him so that he could put it around her neck. It was a delicate silver necklace with a brilliant pearl adorning her collar. Charlotte had grown to love pearls so much that she found them more valuable than even a diamond.

"You should get out of bed already. We have to prepare the manor, and yourself, for tonight's party," Alcott urged her.

Charlotte slipped out of the blanket with a sigh and ushered Alcott out of the room. Eglantine took his place to help the young lady get dressed.

* * *

The hall of the Aethelburg manor was full of artists and nobles. Charlotte was supposed to be the most beautiful lady for which purpose she had put on a red dress, the color that suited her best. She was also wearing the necklace she had received in the morning from Alcott. The pearl was well placed on her chest so that anyone who looked at her could see it. She carried a glass of champagne but she hardly brought it to her lips. She was busy attending to the guests and paying close attention to those she knew were 'dirty'.

Earl Phantomhive had come by himself. His son's health was too frail and Rachel had stayed home to take care of him. She had sent her sincere apologies through her husband and Charlotte was very understanding, the first thing she said having been 'I hope little Ciel will be better soon.'

Alcott was busy with different guests so Charlotte could take Earl Phantomhive to the balcony without being noticed. There she began telling him about her latest discoveries, especially the attacks from the previous night.

"He owns three quarters of the West End. It's just a matter of time before—"

"Charlotte," the Earl calmly interrupted her, "It's your 17th birthday. Such a beautiful age. Please try to enjoy it at least a little."

Charlotte looked away upon meeting the Earl's warm smile.

"I feel terrible about having dragged you into this but I need you. To keep London in order."

She held her glass tighter and would have probably broken it, had Eglantine not showed up, "Miss Charlotte, Earl Aethelburg is looking for you."

"Of course." She smiled briefly and followed the maid back inside.

"Ah, there she is!" Alcott loudly exclaimed. He was standing on the stairs, above the crowd. "Come here."

The crowd split in two, letting her pass. She climbed on the stairs, next to Alcott, who took her hand in his. "Finally," he said more to himself. "Who would have thought that such a day would come?" he wondered aloud. "You used to hate me, I used to see in you nothing more than a source of income. But here we are now, after two long years, standing next to each other..."

He looked her in the eye so deeply and with so much affection that she couldn't help blushing. "I have witnessed your spectacular growth, I have become mesmerized by those crimson orbs. Even now, I can hardly suppress my emotions." He held her hand in both his and she was getting more and more confused. "But I do not wish to do it anymore! I don't want to hide anymore!" He knelt, looking up at her. Her knees grew weak. "Marry me, Charlotte!"

Gasps and murmurs emerged from the crowd. She avoided Alcott's gaze and looked around her, unsure of what to do. Until she came across Earl Phantomhive's sly smile. He was invisible in the sea of people but for her, he stood out like a red light in the middle of a black night. She knew what he was thinking. By becoming Alcott's wife, she would gain more access to his privacy and, most importantly, his business.

She was reluctant for a minute. Marriage was a serious matter. She had agreed to spy on him but fool him and his feelings to such an extent...she wasn't capable of such evil doings. But still...she couldn't say no. She could tell that he was genuine and that a refuse would destroy him. How could she possibly say no? After all, why would it be so strange? Love-lacking marriages weren't unheard of.

So, on the verge of tears, she shyly muttered, "Yes." Alcott took out a silver ring, encrusted with a black pearl. Afterwards, he stood up and crushed her in his arms, for he knew how much she liked to be hugged. He also considered kissing her but was quite hesitant about it. He figured it'd be her first kiss and didn't want to cause an uncalled for reaction. Everyone clapped their hands, especially Vincent, who was most glad about this new turn of events.

* * *

As soon as the house was empty, Charlotte and Alcott retreated to the former's room. There, he made his resolution to kiss her and, through that, bury all formalities that might have still existed between them.

"Listen, Alcott—" she tried to speak to him but couldn't, because as soon as she turned around, Alcott wrapped his arms around her waist and fiercely caught her lips with his. She was tensed at first but soon relaxed, even answering to his passionate kiss.

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks and he stopped for a moment, to breathe in, his heart beating erratically. He continued with even more passion, savoring every second of it. He had even forgotten what it was like to hold a woman in his arms. He was also relieved to be able to finally treat Charlotte as a woman, as his woman, not just a business tool.

He lifted her like a bride and took her to the bed. She insisted to remove her dress, to which he happily complied, and fell asleep in his arms, still crying. He wrongly assumed that those were tears of happiness.

* * *

~December, 1885~

Charlotte refused to attend the funeral. The death of her precious Earl Phantomhive and his wife was still an unfathomable fact for her. Moreover, the disappearance of the young Ciel had made it even less bearable. And on the boy's birthday even! She had been so happy about it. She had picked the perfect present and she had prepared invitations to her upcoming wedding. Yet...such a tragedy had to occur.

Alcott wouldn't have been affected by this at all, had it not caused such great sorrow to his beloved Charlotte. Charlotte also had times when she thought that it was for the best because she didn't have to live a split life anymore. But whenever that crossed her mind, she immediately remembered the Earl's kindness from the very first time they had met.

"You have to come, Charlotte," Alcott was persuading her, "Think of it as your last chance to see him." She didn't even budge from under the blanket. "He'd want you to be there," Alcott added.

"You really think?"

"I'm sure."

* * *

Death is also part of life, just like marriage, and whatever the circumstances, 'the show must go on.' Thus, on 20th December, 1885, Charlotte Wagner was married to Earl Alcott Aethelburg, becoming Countess Charlotte Aethelburg. She was officially a lady, whether the rest of London's nobles approved or not of it.

Alcott was radiating with happiness. He had never expected to feel this good after a mere ceremony. Maybe because it secured the bond between him and Charlotte. Or maybe because...

There was no grand party. The newlyweds had gone straight home after exchanging vows at the church because the bride was in no mood for celebrations. Their wedding had been overshadowed by the recent tragedy of the Phantomhive family.

Alcott understood that and was a tiny bit frustrated. Vincent had been his enemy and kept hindering him even in death. Alcott wondered when he would finally escape the Queen's watchdog. But on the other hand, Vincent had been the one to turn Charlotte into a lady. His simple words had motivated her so.

Sighing, Earl Aethelburg told himself that Vincent belonged to the past and that the present was entirely his—including Charlotte. Alcott smiled as he knocked on the door to her room and entered slowly. She turned around but didn't move at all. She let him embrace her and kiss her and untie her corset.

* * *

~1886~

The theatre was getting more and more popular. Charlotte was spending most of her time there, performing two different shows every day. In the afternoon, she put on a performance better suited for children, while in the evening, the show was more appropriate for an older audience.

One day, after the afternoon performance, she was announced that she had a guest. Although she had found out that Ciel had come back safe and sound, accompanied by a mysterious butler, she was quite shocked to see the boy in flesh and bones—along with the aforementioned butler.

"Ciel," was all she could utter upon meeting him.

"It's been a long time...Lottie."

She smiled, "I could say the same." She lifted her gaze to the black-clad man standing besides the boy. "Who is he?"

"This is my butler, Sebastian," Ciel answered, glancing at the man. Sebastian bowed respectfully in front of Charlotte and when he looked up, their eyes met. A shiver ran through her spine, although she did not know whether it was pleasant or dreadful.

"Sebastian. Nice to meet you. I'm Charlotte."

"The pleasure is all mine," Sebastian replied.

"So, what are you here for?" Charlotte then continued, looking at Ciel. Sebastian took out an envelope and handed it to her.

"My apologies for not having been able to attend your birthday party and...a small business proposal."

"You have inherited more than your father's title and fortune, I see," she said, catching on to the secret meaning of Ciel's words. "What if I refuse?"

"Well...my butler is a very convincing man."

Charlotte looked the butler up and down, grinning, "I'm a married woman, you know." Ciel hid his fluster with irritation.

"Let's go, Sebastian!" he called to his butler and stormed outside.

The butler lingered for a few moments, exchanging meaningful glances and smiles with Charlotte, and left after bowing one more time. Charlotte shook her head and opened the envelope. She found a blue pearl inside it and a letter from Ciel in which he was asking her to become his spy in exchange for a reward based on the situation.

Biting her lip, she considered refusing for a while. But then, she realized how hard it must be on Ciel—still a child—and decided that it was the least she could do for him.

"Here we go again..." she muttered, folding up the envelope and hiding it in a secret pocket of her coat.

* * *

~Autumn, 1888~

The original Black Cat show had proved to be very popular among gentlemen. It wasn't a play that followed a strict script, it was very much like a circus performance, and Charlotte was wearing a tight-fitting, black costume, with a cat tail and ears attached to it. For a particular part of the show, she needed a volunteer, preferably unmarried. Although many men raised their hands, only one stood out.

Sebastian stepped on the stage.

It was around the Jack the Ripper murder cases. Charlotte knew what he wanted and whispered to him to come to her cabin once the show was over. She had already picked some files from Alcott's office, having expected the butler's visit.

"We shall discuss the matter of the payment later, as I am in a hurry. Thank you very much. Lady Aethelburg." Sebastian bowed and left, holding many papers in his hand. She watched him until he was out of sight then, with a sigh, she began taking off her costume.

* * *

_~The second act will be continued with scene 2 on the 29th. The plot thickens, make sure to read it!~_

_Well, this chapter was shorter than the others but this is just the beginning. A lot more interesting stuff will happen later so make sure to tune in for the following chapters! Sebastian and Ciel will appear very often now, no need to worry anymore._

_Again, I apologize for the long introduction and I hope that you'll enjoy our story more from now on :)_

_Also, make sure to drop us a review! I'm really curious how you like Charlotte and/or Alcott._


	7. II Scene 2

_Hello, darlings! I hope you will keep reading because the plot is visibly thickening! The chapters will be a bit short, which I apologize for, but I'll be updating constantly. Enjoy, darlings!_

_Also, this part was written entirely by my friend aeon fear. :)_

* * *

Scene 2

* * *

Night. Streets that were only dimly lit by gas lamps. Solitary. Shuttered windows, like half-closed lids.

A dramatic scene, like the theatre he thrives on.

Julian Kane, lead male in the Bridewell Theater, hurried past the London cobblestones, only thinking about getting home. He had been visiting a co-star.

It was a pleasant night, one of the rare ones. It was cool but not rainy. Julian hummed a tune as he walked. He did not notice the unnatural silence.

Or the strange lack of people.

If he would think about it—why, it was nearing midnight, after all. Respectable people shouldn't be out in the streets. Julian had always liked to think of himself as respectable. He was a famous actor. He had to get home.

He heard the sound of footsteps behind him, and still he was not alarmed. Quiet, and quick. Julian turned, unconcerned, saw no one, and continued on. Surely the Jack the Ripper case was closed. He had nothing to fear. Jack preyed on young women—prostitutes.

Other thieves, the rogues, the bandits, would not dare touch him. He had made it a point not to dress too extravagantly. It was the perfect disguise.

Three more streets to go.

Footsteps.

"Julian Kane?" murmured a feminine voice, stopping him as he passed by another lamp.

"Yes?" he replied automatically. He turned once more, and saw a young woman before him, her features lost in a dark-colored hat she wore. "How may I help you?"

Steel glinted from the woman's palm. Before the young actor could comprehend what happened, blood arced out in a spray.

His blood. Julian staggered, holding out a hand to steady himself. "What…?" he whispered weakly. There was a knife—a dagger?— in his chest. How did that get there?

He was still wondering when his world turned black.

* * *

Applause echoed throughout the Phoenix theatre, once more celebrating a triumphant play orchestrated by Alcott. Charlotte took the final bow with the rest of her comrades.

She retreated to her room where Eglantine was waiting to help her change out of her costume. The play that night was "Pygmalion and Galatea," one of the classic Greek comedies. It was the final night of a week's worth of shows, and she was understandably exhausted. She sat half-drowsing throughout Eglantine's silent attentions, only barely aware that her hair was being brushed out and her make up removed.

Her eyes roamed the room. It had seemed difficult at first to think of it as her own—a few years ago, when Alcott had first brought her there—but now it almost seemed like an extension of home. Flowers adorned the room, gifts from her well-wishers. Her admirers.

They had somewhat abated since she had married Alcott. Previously, her male admirers had been many, but they were in love with Charlotte-the-actress, and not Charlotte herself. She wondered how many of them would suspect that she was really a spy in the indirect pay of the Queen. A spy on her husband.

Her social status had been elevated by her marriage to Alcott. The ladies of London society hid their disdain of her better—however, her life's experiences had taught Charlotte to be discerning. To them, Charlotte was still a peasant girl—a nineteenth-century Cinderella.

She barely had friends outside the home and the theatre. It wasn't that she was lonely—but sometimes she wanted someone to confide in.

She winced. This double life—triple life, really—was wearing her out. Not only physically, but also emotionally. She looked forward to a glass of hot milk and her bed.

There was a rap on the door and she raised her head. "Come in," she sighed.

Alcott came forward, a smile on his lips. "You were wonderful, darling," he enthused.

She smiled back. "Thank you, Alcott. Are there any reporters?"

"I've thrown them all out. You look tired. Henry is out front—we'll go straight home."

"That sounds wonderful," she yawned.

Eglantine stepped back, finished with helping Charlotte out of her costume. In its place was a more conservative brown dress, its delicate frills of lace the only hint of extravagance. Alcott himself helped her into her coat.

They were about to go when Alcott paused, noticing a bouquet of flowers on her table. White lilies—her favorite. "Charlotte, who gave you those?"

She blearily focused on the flowers. She recognized the thin script, written by the butler of a boy-child that was her friend. "Ciel Phantomhive."

"I saw his butler come in here a while ago," Alcott said, his voice accusing.

"Ciel was in the crowd, watching. He ordered Sebastian to give me the flowers."

Alcott had stopped walking. His handsome face was contorted in annoyance. "You were spending time with that butler the other day, as well."

That was because he was getting the information on Jack the Ripper from me, she felt like saying. Lord, she was tired. "Alcott," she protested. "What are you trying to say?"

His hand descended suddenly vise-like on her arm. She yelped.

"Must I remind you that you are married to me?"

"You're being ridiculous—"

"Oh, am I?" His voice was a hiss, and their faces were so close that Charlotte could smell that he had been drinking.

And also, the smell of gunpowder. A strange smell. Alcohol, and gunpowder. Where exactly had Alcott been?

She tried to recall whether she had seen Alcott in his box, but his grip tightened more, and she cried out. "Alcott!"

"Stop spending time with the Phantomhive!"

"You can't tell me who I must make friends with! Ciel's a child. Are you jealous of him now?"

Grey eyes sparked with fury. "And if I am?"

Equally furious, she wrenched her arm out of Alcott's grip. "Alcott, you're drunk! You need to sober up. I'm not going to entertain your alcohol-induced jealousy of a twelve-year old. Do you have any idea how idiotic you sound?"

"You call me an idiot?"

"You are acting like one!" She pushed past him and stomped away.

"Where are you going?!"

She didn't grace him with a reply. She meant what she said—that he had nothing to be jealous about of Ciel.

The butler, Sebastian, was another matter.

Charlotte sighed. Alcott had given her nothing but kindness. He was so, so different tonight. She wondered what happened.

She was soon outside the theatre and raised a hand to hail a cab. Thankfully she had some money in her pocket.

She wasn't going to go home with a drunken Alcott, but she was going to a house. The Phantomhive's.

It was time to collect her payment.

* * *

Sebastian himself opened the doors for her. He didn't seem surprised, but then again he had always hidden his emotions well.

Ciel was roused from his bed, yawning. "Lottie, normally I'm glad to see you, but this might be a bit too much, don't you think?"

"I'm sorry, Ciel. I'm a bit annoyed at Alcott tonight and do not wish to be in the same house as him. I told you I'd come for my payment, right? Let me stay here."

"What were you upset about?"

"…" Charlotte blushed. Suddenly the words were too stupid to be repeated. It was the first time that anyone had been jealous over her. And Ciel as Alcott's rival! It was insane.

Of course, there had never been too many opportunities for another lover for Alcott to get jealous over, right?

"I'm staying, and that's final," she said flatly, banging down her cup of hot milk that Sebastian had thoughtfully prepared for her.

Ciel was exasperated. "Very well! Sebastian, are any of the others awake?"

"No, My Lord."

"All right. Please lead Lady Aethelburg to a guest room. Then please notify the Earl Aethelburg of her whereabouts—we wouldn't want him to accuse us of kidnapping his wife."

"Yes, my Lord."

Charlotte smiled. "Thank you. Now you go back to bed, Ciel. It must be past your bedtime."

"I wonder who was it that woke me up in the middle of the night," Ciel shot back.

"Touché."

* * *

There was a warm bath waiting in the room where Charlotte was to stay. And so, even if it was very late, she gratefully sank into the tub. She wondered briefly how Sebastian had drawn it up so quickly. As far as she knew, he had been standing quietly behind her the whole time she was talking to Ciel.

After her bath, she found Sebastian in her room. She hurriedly backed up into the bathroom again. "Sebastian! What are you doing here?"

"My Lord asked me to take care of Lady Aethelburg's needs," Sebastian replied smoothly. "I doubt that Lady Charlotte has brought a nightgown, and so I have prepared one for her."

"Shouldn't you be informing…my husband…of my whereabouts?" Sebastian had seen her in only her bath robe!

"I have already done so."

"While I was in the bath?" She found it had to believe.

"Yes."

Maybe he used a homing pigeon or something. It was the only rational explanation. Even on horseback, he couldn't have reached the Aethelburg manor and come back to the Phantomhive estate within the time she was in the bath.

"My lady?"

Oh, right, the nightgown. "Sebastian," she said calmly, though the heat of a blush was making its way down her face, "I can't dress while you're there."

There was a beat of silence. "If my lady wishes for assistance—"

Her imagination went into overdrive, picturing a certain scene in her head. "I'm fine!" she squeaked, cursing herself. "I wasn't raised a noble—I at least know how to put on a nightgown by myself!"

"As my Lady wishes." She heard the door close. When she peeked cautiously out of her bathroom again, she saw that he was indeed gone. She sighed in relief, her blush receding.

She was doing the last buttons on her lacy nightgown when the door opened without warning. Swift as thought, she snatched up a candlestick on her bedside table and hurled it at the newcomer.

It was Sebastian. He ducked smoothly. Nonetheless, the candlestick made a noticeable dent in the wood behind him.

"W-What are you trying to pull?!" Charlotte stuttered.

"I only wanted to see what was taking Lady Charlotte so long. I thought you were asleep already." He paused, and smiled at her. "I apologize."

I get the feeling that he's not sincere, thought Charlotte, miffed. She looked down only to see that the top two buttons of her nightgown weren't done yet. The top of her chest was…it was…"_Get out_!"

The second hurled candlestick also missed, but it did leave Charlotte with no light in her guest room.

"Good night, Lady Charlotte." Was he laughing at her behind her back?

Maybe she should've slept in the theatre instead.

* * *

Across town, in a place known as New Kent Road, a man with blond hair and weary blue eyes sat down to eat his breakfast. It was nearly eleven, though, and his meal would be called supper by some.

Suddenly there was a banging on the door. "Luke! Luke! Are you awake?"

Luke Linnett gritted his teeth. He recognized the voice, though he wished he hadn't—it would have given him an excuse to shoot the stranger at least. He got up and opened the door to his apartment. "Jim. What th' hell are you doing here so early?"

James Thomson, his fellow reporter at St. James', stared at him incredulously. "It's almost eleven, Luke. Not early."

Luke glared. "Be as it may, you're disturbing me, and you better have a good reason."

"I do! I do!" Jim said hastily, knowing Luke's tendency to be grouchy in the mornings. "There's been a murder."

Luke barely blinked. "Is that supposed to surprise me?"

"It's an actor, Julian Kane," Jim continued, ignoring Luke's disinterested tone. "His body was found on the Thames river—got spotted by a fishing boat—but he was stabbed before he was thrown in."

"I see. How delightful. Well, I'm eating so—"

"Luke! The chief wants you to cover it!"

Luke groaned inwardly. "Is there any connection to the Ripper murders?"

"The police don't think so. The method of killing—"

The Ripper killings hadn't been assigned to him. That must be why the Chief wanted him to cover it—because it was a new angle.

"I understand," Luke sighed. "I'll be at the docks within half an hour."

Jim nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Linnett."

Luke scratched his head in frustration as Jim went away. Another murder. One of the many that he'd seen. What was the difference, really? Whether it was a famous actor, or a peasant, or an Earl and his wife…

A flash of memory. Vincent.

Luke went back to his food, hoping that there would be time for a decent bath before he had to be at the docks.

* * *

~_The second act will be continued with scene 3 on October 6th. Naughty, naughty Sebastian..._~

_That's it for now, lovely readers! I hope you've enjoyed it :)_

_Is there anything you've particularly liked? The empty review box is kindly asking asking for your opinion :D_


	8. II Scene 3

_Hello, darlings! Even though a day late, a new chapter is here. :D More exciting stuff happens...some M rated content too...well, according to FF's standards. I should call it, hmm, a bed scene, like in a movie. Anyway, enjoy!_

_Also, aeon fear! Don't forget that we're in this together!_

* * *

Scene 3

* * *

Charlotte pulled the blanket over her head but she still couldn't fall asleep. The rush of blood caused earlier by that nosy butler still hadn't calmed down. How could she sleep under such circumstances?

With an exasperated sigh, she sat up and looked around herself but the room was too dark for her to see anything. And she had ruined both candle holders! She got out of bed with difficulty and made her way to the door, shyly touching the objects within her reach with every hesitant step she took. She allowed herself to exhale relieved when her fingers grabbed the door knob.

She opened the door slowly, peering into the hall but she couldn't see anything over there, either. With a gulp, she stepped outside, a little bit frightened. It was raining. Charlotte could hear the faint noise of water drops hitting the glass of the windows.

A sudden flash of light made her whip around. Her eyes fell upon a grinning figure which quickly vanished. A thunder followed. Charlotte screamed and fell back then another lightning revealed the creepy face. As it took a step forward, Charlotte crawled backwards.

"Lady Aethelburg, are you all right?" Sebastian's even, unperturbed voice relaxed her somewhat. Her heart was still wildly beating.

"Sebastian, is that really you?" she murmured, almost not believing her ears. Was that eerie smirk truly Sebastian's?

There was a slight sizzle then the warm light of a candle was shoved in her face. The butler held out a hand which Charlotte reluctantly took. "What are you doing out so late?" he asked.

"I—" She bit her lip. "I couldn't sleep," she replied without looking him in the eye.

"Well, then, I shall lead you back to your chamber. Lady Aethelburg?" His tone was questioning, for she gripped tightly on his sleeve.

"Please do," was her only response.

They walked in silence towards her room. He took her all the way to the bed and placed the candle holder on the small bedside table. She sat down on the comfortable mattress, her thoughts wandering towards unpleasant directions.

"If you'll excuse me," Sebastian bowed, deciding to leave

Charlotte nervously chewed on her bottom lip as she was making up her mind. "Wait!" she called just as the butler reached the door. Swallowing a knot in her throat, Charlotte licked her dry lips before completing her request, "Don't leave. Yet. Please."

With a devilish smile, unseen by her, Sebastian turned around, faking his confusion. "My Lady, is something the matter?"

Charlotte stood up. Sebastian felt that he had to get closer. They met halfway and she desperately clung on to him, although her mien showed no specific emotion. Her lips were trembling and her crimson orbs were brimming with tears. They locked gazes but hers soon traveled down his neck, to his chest.

"Your lord asked you," she began, her voice quivering, "to take care of my needs, is that so?"

"Yes," he responded while nodding.

"Then…" She finally looked back up at him, craning her neck to reach for his lips. But the butler was much taller than her.

He grinned yet again as he said, "I understand. If that is my lady's wish then I shall fulfill it."

Sebastian brought an arm to her knees while keeping the other one firmly on her back. He lifted her in his arms and went to the bed. Charlotte didn't protest. She let him lay her down and blow out the candle. She couldn't see that he was taking off his gloves and jacket. She closed her eyes and opened them upon feeling his hot breath glide over her face.

By pure instinct, she found his mouth and kissed it eagerly. It wasn't exactly what he was planning, though. He never wanted to get too involved. But Lady Aethelburg wouldn't have it any other way: all or nothing. Her small hands felt him up and began unbuttoning his vest and shirt. Once she got them out of the way, her hands grasped his hair as her kisses became more passionate.

Sebastian growled. Charlotte had taken the lead and he didn't like it. He pulled away from her lips, moving on to her jaw, and lower. She purred like a cat, especially when Sebastian's skillful hands slipped underneath her gown, caressing her sides.

He ripped the cloth, gaining full access to her svelte body. He admired her toned abdomen for a second before licking her navel. Her fingers tangled further in his hair while he meticulously kissed his way back to her lips.

Although he attempted to think rationally, like a human butler, more than once, his demon gut wouldn't let him stop. Besides, the image of Charlotte in that tight-fitting cat costume had made him wonder what she was like beneath. Why should he ignore such an opportunity?

And his expectations hadn't been betrayed.

* * *

For some reason, Charlotte woke up feeling strangely well. And naked. Suddenly self-conscious, she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. She panicked for a minute. She wasn't even home! If it had been Alcott's bed, she would have understood. Because whenever she woke up naked, she would also have her husband by her side. She would be sleeping on his bare chest and greeted with a kiss once her eyes opened.

But not this morning. This morning, Charlotte was sitting in someone else's bed in someone else's room. She felt guilty all of a sudden. "As if spying on him hadn't been enough…"

She almost began crying when someone knocked on the door. Her head snapped up. Who could it be? "Come—come in!"

The door opened and a maid came in, carrying a silver tray with a cup of milk on it. Charlotte tried as much as possible to hide her nude figure. "Goo-Good morning, Lady Aethelburg."

Charlotte immediately recognized the red hair and broken glasses. "Meyrin!"

So she was at the Phantomhive manor. She remembered something about a fight with Alcott and fleeing there. But still… "Thank you, Meyrin. You can leave now," Charlotte hurriedly added. Meyrin left the room as ordered, not without wondering what Lady Aethelburg was doing there.

* * *

Sebastian carefully observed Meyrin's expression as she descended from Charlotte's room. For some reason, he had spent more time than necessary with Lady Aethelburg, even after she had fallen asleep, simply contemplating her. His watch wasn't within reach so by the time he had decided to leave, he noticed that he was going to be late. With a frown, he had had to rush to his duties without fixing up the nightgown—and, not to mention, dressing the lady back up.

"How was Lady Aethelburg?" he casually asked the maid.

"She-she seemed well. A little disoriented. I don't think she expected to see me the first thing in the morning…," Meyrin replied shyly as she was climbing down the stairs.

Seconds after, she took a wrong step and would have tumbled down, had Sebastian not caught her promptly. Meyrin blushed and began muttering an apology but he didn't bother listening. His attention was suddenly focused on the ringing doorbell.

He hurried to the entrance hall. Earl Aethelburg had come to fetch his wife. Finnian had thoughtlessly let him in. Sebastian frowned displeased because he had lost the start. The Earl was quite furious. But he was already inside, in the middle of the hall. No matter what the butler would tell him, Alcott wouldn't buy it easily.

"Earl Aethelburg, wel—" But Sebastian's politeness went by unnoticed. Alcott grabbed the butler's collar and glared at him angrily.

"Where is she? Where is my wife?" he thundered.

Sebastian pondered his answer for a second. No matter what he told this angry man, it wouldn't stop him from searching for Charlotte himself. Alcott didn't even wait for an answer to his query. He rushed up the stairs where he guessed the guest rooms should be.

"Excuse me, Earl Aethelburg," Ciel intervened, "but you have no right to be treating my servants like this. Or acting as if this were your own home. You're intruding."

The boy was standing at the top of the stairs, literally looking down on Alcott.

"My wife is here. It gives me the right to take her home," the older Earl protested.

"Lady Aethelburg has just woken up," Sebastian mentioned in a louder voice, "You should have some consideration. I will announce your presence and—"

Alcott lost his temper completely. That damn butler! Meddling in his business like that. Before he knew it, he was downstairs again, fiercely punching Sebastian's cheek. Although the shock of the impact made him stumble a few steps backwards, Sebastian wasn't otherwise too fazed. He enjoyed it, actually. It gave him a reason to kick Earl Aethelburg out.

But the fist he tried to the deliver to the gray eyed man was instantly blocked by a hand other than the victim's. A deep blue iris caught the butler's attention and he cautiously jumped back, towards his own master.

"I believe, Earl Aethelburg, that this is no place for a violent quarrel," Ciel commented, "Please leave at once and come back only if you find yourself in a reasonable state. Otherwise I will see myself forced to take drastic measures. Sebastian, show them the way out."

"Yes, My Lord," the butler curtly replied.

Earl Aethelburg would have protested, had his demon maid not objected. "This is not the time, nor the place for this, my lord. Let us retreat for now," she said.

"Give me back my wife!" he yelled.

"I shall have her returned to your manor as soon as she decides to leave," said Ciel.

"Fine," Alcott hissed through gritted teeth. He put on his hat with a defying gesture and evil glare. "Let us go, Eglantine."

He stomped towards the door held open by Tanaka. His maid followed suit after exchanging meaningful glances with Sebastian.

"I'll kill him," Alcott muttered once in the carriage, "I'll definitely kill him some day."

* * *

Charlotte was later informed by Meyrin, while she was being helped into her dress, about the ruckus her husband had caused. She felt somewhat guilty but, at the same time, irritated. Alcott had brought it upon himself. There was no need for him to make such a scene. It was his fault in the first place.

There was a knock on the door. It opened shortly after and Sebastian announced in a soft voice that he had brought the tea. Charlotte dismissed Meyrin and stood by the window, purposefully avoiding the butler.

He poured the tea in a delicate, porcelain cup, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. She was obviously bothered by something and he somehow enjoyed seeing her distressed figure.

"Is something the matter, Lady Aethelburg?" asked he, without actually caring for an answer.

Charlotte could tell that he was merely teasing her. Unable to hold it in anymore, she turned around, prepared to confront him, but upon the sight of his face, something odd stirred within her and her heart went on a rampage.

And then, she remembered, although vaguely, what had happened the previous night. Her astounded gaze moved slowly to her feet as she began realizing the gravity of the facts. Her married life was going to turn into hell!

* * *

Alcott Aethelburg watched the evening show from his private box, an unfathomable expression in his dark eyes. Charlotte was on stage, twirling graceful pirouettes. It might have been entirely unremarkable had she not been doing it atop a bar merely two feet wide, above a drop of a dozen feet.

She had returned the day before yesterday—returned, in fact, to the theatre first before the house. Their house. Remembering it, Alcott's hands tightened on his cane. She was his wife! His own. He had brought her there and given her her heart's desire. How dare she run away?

How dare she?!

And that Phantomhive butler! If there wasn't anything between his Charlotte and that butler, he would eat his hat whole. He was furious, that day he attempted to fetch Charlotte, but he was not blind. He was sure that the butler was smirking at him.

Laughing at him!

"My Lord."

Alcott turned, ready to lash out at the person who disturbed him, but it was only Eglantine. With these two—Eglantine and Charlotte—the Mafia was his. Had been, for a couple of years now.

"Eglantine," he acknowledged flatly.

Eglantine handed him the evening paper. She was dressed simply, in a maid's outfit, but there was an air of muted danger about her.

"Julian Kane is dead."

"The Bridewell star," Alcott mused. "Which newspapers picked it up?"

"The Gazette. Times. Globe. Star. However," Eglantine continued, "The first paper to publish was St. James', in this morning's edition."

Alcott frowned. A paper ahead of the rest by almost a whole day? "Do you have a copy?"

Wordlessly, Eglantine gave him one. Alcott browsed the paper, wondering briefly why he hadn't noticed it this morning—ah. It was just after Charlotte had arrived back home.

There wasn't much that the other papers didn't publish. In fact, aside from the fact that St. James' was ahead, the papers were almost identical in content. Julian Kane, of Bridewell Theater. Stabbed to death and his body thrown in the Thames. He had no known enemies. He was last seen leaving a friend's party, at ten in the evening. That was the last anyone ever saw him alive.

"Who was the reporter of St. James'?"

"Luke Linnett."

Alcott raised his brows. So the old newshound was still in there.

They had been associated, long ago. Luke kept Alcott's name from appearing in the papers—for a hefty sum.

Perhaps a conversation is in order, Alcott thought, staring at the St. James' paper.

But Charlotte came first.

* * *

At that very moment, the old newshound was sitting in a bar in ConventGarden, in a heated conversation with his fellow journalist, Alexander Hunter. At least, Luke thought with amusement, it was Alex who was heated. Alex had just been rejected by the woman he'd proposed to, and was determined to drink half the bar's brandy supply as a result.

"Why?" Alex wailed. "I thought she was going to agree! What is it about me that isn't marriageable? Can you answer me that, Luke?"

"Well," Luke said slowly, "It might have something to do with the fact that you don't have much money, boy."

Alex glared. "You're the worst person to ask sympathy from."

"Thank you." Luke eyed the bottles that Alex was piling up. He mentally gauged whether he could carry Alex to his rooms.

"What about you? You've been at this rap for almost ten years! You must have some money saved…why aren't you married?"

Luke sighed. He hated it when the conversation came to him, though he supposed he deserved it. "I don't deserve a wife. That's the truth of it."

His younger colleague's face was sympathetic. The very emotion that Luke denied him. "You know, Luke, you're not a bad fellow. Thirty-three's—"

Whatever comfort Alex was going to offer was cut off by a sudden hubbub of people bursting into the bar. There was a fat, balding man, who looked pale and fainting, supported by two other street cabbies. They settled the fat man next to them.

Luke quickly handed his brandy over to one of the cabbies, gesturing for them to give it to the man. "What happened?" he asked sharply.

The cabby took the brandy and drank it. Luke was about to point out that it wasn't for him, when he saw that the drivers weren't in much better shape than the fat man. "A body," the cabby gasped. "Dead. Out back. Shot—"

Luke stood instantly and headed for the door. "Alex, stay here and try to bring this man to a doctor. I'm going out back."

"What?! Luke—are you crazy? The bastard could still be out there!"

Luke ignored Alex, but once out of the bar, he pulled out his gun. It was already loaded, so he pointed it at the ground while he ran to the back of the bar.

There was a clatter of footsteps behind him. Luke turned around, his gun pointed at the man behind him. The person blanched, then raised his hands.

Luke sighed in relief. "Landry," he said. It was the barkeep. "You're lucky I didn't blow your head off. Run after me like that, would you?"

Landry, a man even more portly than the man in the bar, merely shrugged. "You'd have a hard time hitting my vital organs. And I'm hardly more foolish than the newshound who comes to see a body alone, with only a gun."

"You got a gun, grand-dad?"

Landry was fifty, with a mop of gray hair.

"A lamp."

Luke snorted, but let him come along. They were running now. They turned a corner, to walk into the back of the bar. If there was a chance that the person was still alive, he might be able to—

Suddenly they stopped. Landry dropped the lamp and Luke couldn't blame him.

A body, the cabby said. It was true—but it was the body of a woman. A well-dressed woman, obviously well-to-do. She was shot thrice, once in the chest, in the shoulder, and the abdomen. No one could survive that.

"Lord," Landry choked out. "Right here in my bar! Why didn't we hear it?"

Luke picked up the fallen lamp. "'Cause she was already dead when she was dragged here."

"How do you know that?"

"If she had been killed here, there would have been bloodstains on the walls, on the floor," said Luke absently, trying to identify the body.

It was almost familiar… He raised the lamp higher. "There's no blood, except for the ones on herself. Well, there's no doubt about it. She's dead."

"Poor lass. You know her?"

"I think so. Let me think." Luke paused, trying to remember. Then he did. "Miss Rebecca Cushing. Star of Bradstreet Troupe."

"Troupe? You mean she's an actress?"

"Ayuh." Her purse was still there. It wasn't a burglary?

"Poor lass," Landry repeated. He was still pale—almost fainting, too, and Luke didn't think he could carry all that lard to the bar. "What do we do?"

"Get a hold of yourself," Luke said shortly. "Get the police. There's nothing else we can do."

Landry nodded, and wobbled back to the bar. Luke lingered, but he could sense no one else in the back of the shop.

The culprit was long gone. Though he was relieved, he was also disturbed. That would make the second theatre star to be killed in the space of just a week.

Could it be a coincidence?

* * *

_~The second act will be continued with scene 4 on October 20th. Because I'm not home this weekend.~_

_I apologize for the delay. But it totally slipped my mind to update yesterday. And do you know why? Because no one reminded me of it. Which is why, I hope you review! So that I won't forget to update :D_

_PS: it's my birthday on the 19th so...will you review as a present? :)_


	9. II Scene 4

_Hello again! How have you all been? ^_^ It's been longer than usual but I hope you've been looking forward to this. Because even I am looking forward to see how the story will develop! XD_

_Also, another shout-out to aeon fear!_

* * *

Scene 4

* * *

Charlotte's days were not going well. She was forbidden from making contact with the Phantomhives and Eglantine was with her round the clock to make sure that she didn't. In retaliation, she spent nearly all her time in the theatre. She couldn't entirely ignore Alcott when she got home and she did try to make peace of sorts with him. No luck.

It had been two weeks since she had come home.

She couldn't believe that he could hold a grudge for so long. But she should have expected it…after all, he was hell-bent on making those people who killed his precious sister pay. After all these years.

Alcott had even stopped her spying jobs within the Mafia. It was as if he was trying to control her schedule. On the other hand, he was becoming more and more scarce. She barely saw him.

Charlotte fiddled with her pearl necklace. Truth be told, she was relieved that she didn't have to face Alcott. It made the burden of pretending a bit less. But she did wonder what Alcott was up to. In as far as she knew, there was no trouble within the Mafia.

So on the morning show of the fifteenth day since her return, she was surprised to see the Earl Phantomhive in the front seat, watching the children's show.

If the Earl was here, then Sebastian—?

* * *

The unasked question did not go unanswered. When the show ended, the Earl and Sebastian were in her dressing room.

"Ciel!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Lottie," Ciel greeted her. "Amazing performance, as always."

"Do you know that I'm forbidden from seeing you?"

"I do. I won't stay long. But there's a job from the Queen."

Charlotte perked up. She had been craving for something like this. "What kind of job?"

Sebastian and Ciel looked at each other. "Have you been reading the paper?"

"No."

"Read it then. It should be right up your alley."

"What is?"

Ciel opened his mouth to reply, but Sebastian shook his head. Both Charlotte and Ciel looked at him. As soon as her eyes alighted on the butler, her heart began to beat faster.

"Her maid is coming," the butler warned.

Ciel nodded. "Lottie, you'll understand once you read the papers. Two weeks. Julian Kane."

She was still bewildered. Ciel rose and walked with Sebastian to the doorway. Two weeks? Julian Kane? "Wait! How will I contact you?"

"I will be glad to receive any correspondence from the lady," Sebastian said swiftly.

Ciel nodded. "We would need to keep this a secret from the Earl Aethelburg, but Sebastian could visit at night."

She blushed at the thought of a late night visit from Sebastian. Last time, they… "Eglantine—?" she offered a token protest.

"She leaves you as soon as she believes you're asleep." Sebastian assured her. "She does jobs for the Earl Aethelburg."

It didn't have the intended effect. "How did you know that?!"

He only gave her a coy smile. Before she could ask another question, they walked into the hallway. Charlotte tried to follow, but they had disappeared.

What was that all about?!

* * *

Charlotte stood in the middle of the hallway, still bewildered, but quickly composed herself upon seeing Eglantine come round the corner. The maid rushed up to her mistress, suspicion darkening her fair complexion.

"Is something the matter, milady?" Eglantine asked in a tone that clearly disapproved with Charlotte's waiting outside of her chamber.

"Yes, actually, it is," Lady Aethelburg mysteriously replied as she went back in. Eglantine followed her inside and shut the door behind herself.

"What is it?"

"I've heard some rumors," Charlotte began, "about actors and actresses getting killed."

The maid frowned, "Who has told you such things?"

Charlotte waved her hand dismissively as she turned to the mirror, pretending to be removing her hairpins but actually observing the maid's expression carefully.

"Eglantine, it's rumors. You hear them everywhere."

"True," Eglantine agreed and stepped closer to her lady to begin untying her costume.

"Why have I not heard of this before?"

"Earl Aethelburg did not wish to worry you."

"Well, not being told things is even more worrisome."

The colorful dress fell to the ground. The maid picked it up, straightening it out and putting it away in the wardrobe.

"I would like to read the papers," Charlotte dully stated.

Eglantine glanced at her from the corner of her eye, "But milady does not usually read the papers." She said it as if she was imputing it to her lady.

Charlotte had prepared a believable explanation but the maid's response irritated her so she snapped right back at her, "Actors and actresses do not usually get killed."

Eglantine tied Charlotte's corset with a little more force than needed, "Very well. Milady wishes to be well informed, is that so?"

"It is exactly so," Charlotte muttered, while pulling on her dress. What's her problem with me, she was thinking, getting all wary like that? There must be something rotten in here, she concluded.

* * *

Charlotte was drinking her tea alone at the manor where her faithful maid supplied her with all the papers reporting news about the murders.

Julian Kane was the first victim. He was found in the Thames but had been stabbed to death elsewhere. Charlotte furrowed her brows, struggling to remember something. Julian Kane. The name was familiar. He was an actor, of course she knew his name, but she felt that there was more to it than just that.

Julian Kane had been a handsome fellow, although not very smart. He made his way to Bridewell by charming numerous ladies, including the hideous, yet rich manageress of the aforementioned theater. Charlotte cringed. The manageress of Bridewell wasn't well seen by society, not only because of her abnormal sizes but also because of her disgusting habits. Lady Aethleburg recalled being approached by Julian Kane once at a party. Poor guy needed some relief from that monster.

Next up was Rebecca Cushing, of Bradstreet. That Rebecca Cushing. Beautiful, exquisite but much too conceited. She once claimed to have had an affair with the Prince of Wales, Charlotte had heard it herself. It was true that Queen Victoria's oldest son had had extramarital affairs and that he had an eye for actresses, but Miss Cushing was one of those women who would spread any kind of gossip just to be the center of attention.

Apparently, she had been shot thrice and her body dumped at Landry's bar (oh, it still existed? how many years has it been since she last saw old Landry bring beer to her father at the circus tent, five, six, more?) and discovered by Luke Linnett, the reporter himself.

The third victim, Sarah Schneider, American born, French raised operetta star had her throat sliced and bled to death. Just like Julian, her body was thrown in the Thames. It was found in the sewers by a constable merely 5 days before.

Charlotte hadn't met Sarah personally but she had heard her colleagues talk about her and her concerts. Alcott had also made a curious remark about her some time before, when the two of them were still on good terms. He'd said that Sarah was an interesting character with an unmistakable voice. It'd sounded as if he'd heard her both on and off stage. However, as far as Charlotte knew, he never met her personally. Otherwise, Earl Aethelburg would have certainly introduced his wife to a famous operetta singer.

The last one, James Johnson, was discovered in his room by his own maid. She had entered her master's chamber to clean it up as he had told her the previous night that he would come home the following day at noon. The woman was shocked to see him on his bed, apparently asleep.

But as she got closer, she realized that he wasn't breathing and screamed. The neighbors heard her, the police came and it was officially decided that he had been suffocated. Upon checking with Johnson's lady friend, the Scotland Yard concluded that the popular comedy actor, renowned for changing theaters very often, was last seen alive at sunrise when he left his lady friend's company.

As far as she was concerned, Charlotte had never liked the guy. He had such face features that allowed him to impersonate many people and make fun of them. Charlotte was one of his 'victims' some years ago, shortly after her debut. Although he couldn't impersonate her completely, he could make jokes about her and her show. However, the reasons for her disliking him were not personal. Her gut told her that he was no good and her gut was right more often than not.

With a sigh, she folded the last newspaper and put it away. Alcott refused to leave his room while she was at the manor which bothered her somewhat. Charlotte glanced towards the stairs as she put on her shoes, wrapped her shoulders with a shawl and left. Eglantine was right behind her. Henry was holding the door to the carriage open. Charlotte climbed in without taking his hand. She was too caught up in her own thoughts.

* * *

During the warm-up, Charlotte scrutinized the crowd of performers, wondering how she should land the question. Should she try to sound worried and see who else was sharing her fears? Should she just bring up Julian Kane's or Rebecca Cushing's name? Someone or other would have to react. But suddenly, something else occurred to her. So as she was stretching over her legs, she casually said:

"There have been more people attending our evening shows lately."

A couple of heads turned to her and a voice replied, "You shouldn't be too surprised."

Charlotte faked confusion, "Why?"

"Well, Julian Kane's late evening shows are over. He attracted most of the ladies and their gentlemen had to accompany them. But now that he's dead, the ladies don't have a reason to go to the theatre anymore and their gentlemen are free to come here and see you," someone else answered Charlotte's question, smiling towards the end.

"So Julian Kane really is dead...I had heard people speak but...I couldn't believe it. I still cannot," Charlotte continued.

One of the girls stretched her arms above her head as she spoke, "James Johnson is also dead. Not that I would mind too much. I still hadn't forgiven him for saying bad things about Earl Aethelburg and you, Lottie."

"But don't you think that Kane also deserved it?" said a man, "I heard he used to fool young ladies into consuming opium. He also used to be a friend of that dreadful Viscount of Druitt who was arrested some time ago."

Charlotte furrowed her brows, "Really? What do you know about the Viscount of Druitt?"

"Oh, not much," the man waved his hand, "I know someone at Scotland Yard who told me that the Viscount was arrested because of some dirty affairs. Money got him out, of course."

"Do you think that Kane was involved in 'dirty affairs' as well?" Charlotte insisted.

"He could have been. He had many Turk friends. And, you might have not known this, but it was Turks who first brought the opium to the West."

"But you cannot blame him, can you?" another man intervened. He stood up and approached the small circle that had formed around Charlotte, "With a mistress like that." A discreet chuckle surged the crowd. "Admit it, John, the reason why you turned down Bridewell and chose The Phoenix instead was that woman."

John shook his head and walked away, "It's much better here than it would have been there. And our colleagues are prettier." He glanced over his shoulder at Charlotte and the other girls around her. The ladies avoided his gaze and smiled shyly while whispering things such as, 'so handsome' and 'John, he's such a darling'.

Soon, the performance began. Just like Charlotte had noted, the theatre was fuller than other days. She looked up instinctively, to see Alcott. He was, as always, alone in his lodge. But as soon as the music started playing, a blonde man sat next to him. The same blonde man from a couple of years ago, whom Charlotte had chased after.

"You're not getting away this time," she muttered to herself.

That night's show involved a lot of flying. Charlotte was hanging from a rope and swirled freely above the spectators' heads. It was even more impressive when, making use of all her force, she managed to reach Alcott's lodge. The blonde man applauded, amazed, while the Earl stared at his wife with wide eyes. Realizing that all the heads were turned towards them, Alcott kissed his wife's hand before she quickly jumped off, returning to the stage.

"Lovely, is she not?" the blonde man said.

"Very," Alcott absentmindedly replied.

* * *

_~The second act will be continued with scene 5 on the 27th. It will be much more interesting so make sure to tune in for it!~_

_Ahem. I've said this before but I'll say it again. It was my birthday yesterday :) and it's still not late for a present *coughreviewcough*_

_I hope you've enjoyed reading. Any likes/dislikes you have I would love to hear about them!_


	10. II Scene 5

Scene 5

* * *

"Mr. Linnett, please wait!"

The blonde man stopped and turned around. That odd maid of the Aethelburg household was running after him. "Did I forget something?" he calmly inquired.

"No," Eglantine answered, "Lady Aethelburg would like to talk to you."

His brows rose slightly, "Is that so?"

"Please, follow me." Eglantine walked ahead of him and, more curious than anything, Mr. Linnett did follow her.

"Do you happen to know what this is about?"

"Not at all, sir. I was just asked to fetch you immediately."

Mr. Linnett spoke no more, instead wondered what the wife of that Earl could want from him.

Upon reaching Charlotte's chamber, the maid introduced him as Mr. Luke Linnett, a journalist.

"Although I feel honored to be here," Luke began, "I would like to know the reason."

Lady Aethelburg breathed in quietly and spun on her heel to face him. She had a mysterious look in her eyes, as if she was challenging him to guess. But she replied to his query anyway, "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Charlotte took her shawl and headed towards the door, "Don't worry, I'm thinking of a place that will suit your tastes as well."

Luke put his cap back on, which he had taken off briefly when he entered Charlotte's cabin, and followed Lady Aethelburg and her maid outside. "Why should I?" he insisted. He hadn't been given a proper explanation.

"Just come."

All three of them went to Charlotte's carriage, with Eglantine as the driver. Charlotte mentally sighed relieved. Fortunately, Eglantine had bought her lie about not wanting to have dinner alone and Luke was curious enough to accompany her without complaining.

* * *

"Well, if anyone had told me that Lady Aethelburg dines at Landry's bar, I would have never believed it," Luke stated as he sat on a bar stool.

Charlotte gave him a satisfied grin, "I told you, you would like it. A beer, please."

"And you're drinking beer," he whispered, shocked.

Charlotte's grin became even smugger, "I am German, Mr. Linnett. I grew up with beer."

Old man Landry brought a beer for the lady and brandy for the sir. "So what did you want to talk about?" Luke asked, feeling more comfortable with a glass in front of him.

Charlotte gulped down half of the pint and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand in a very un-ladylike fashion before saying, "Well, since I wouldn't want Eglantine to come in here, accusing me of having spent too much time eating, I shall make this quick. I would like to know about your relationship to my husband."

She carefully studied his expression, her hand tightening on the mug's handle. Her whole tough woman attitude was more or less an act. Thus, considering that she was talking to a journalist outside of a theatre, she felt rather unsure about it and hoped that he would believe her.

Luke calmly took a sip from his brandy as he responded, "What do you mean by 'relationship'?"

Charlotte drank some more beer to cool down. "I mean how you are related to each other. I have seen you some years ago coming out of his office. I am assuming that you work for him. I would like to know more about that aspect."

"That's some delicate business. Why would you wish to know such things?"

"It's my husband."

"That's strange."

"Why?"

"Because I do not understand why you would be interested in you husband's affairs if you already know what he's doing."

"I do not know everything he is doing."

"Then what do you need?"

"To know everything he is doing."

Luke smiled slyly at the odd game of words as he finished drinking his liquor. "Who are you working for?" he coolly asked.

Charlotte gulped silently and finished her beer before ordering another one. It was too late for her to play ignorant. Her only choice now was to admit that she was working for someone but after that? Then she decided that she should go with the truth. If things went wrong, she could ask Sebastian later to fix them.

The mere thought of the butler made her shudder but she recovered quickly and told Luke simply, "Le ciel."

"The sky?" Luke sounded confused. But as he brought the refilled glass of brandy to his lips, he somehow realized what she truly meant by those words and his eyes went wide.

"Will you please tell me now?"

"Why hasn't he asked me himself?"

"He probably never thought of it."

"And what, more exactly, would you like to know?"

"Why did you come see him tonight?"

"Because of the recent murders."

She nodded, "What about them?"

"Well, he runs a theatre and since all these murders are related to stars who have performed in theaters, he would like to make sure that his name does not appear in the papers."

"Does he have any connection to the murders?"

Luke shook his head, "I wouldn't know."

"Then tell me more about the murders. Other than what's written in the papers. Your personal opinion, even."

"My personal opinion is that there is more behind these crimes than the common folk could ever imagine. If you're acquainted with the puppy Earl and aware of your husband's darkest affairs, you should know that the underworld of London is much more complicated than the normal world itself. I cannot think of a motive at the moment but more often than not, motives for this kind of atrocities are truly unthinkable. "

"I could figure out that much, Mr. Linnett. Anything else? Oh, and Landry, do you have any food here? I'm starving."

Landry laughed, "Oh, yes. As soon as I told my wife that Lady Aethelburg is here, she took it upon herself to make some schnitzel. You'll have it soon."

"Thank you, Landry. You were saying?" she turned to Luke.

"I was saying that my personal opinion is that these murders are also connected."

"How so?"

"Whoever is doing this is trying too hard to make it look like they have nothing in common but when more murders occur at around the same time, in the same city, there's obviously a deranged individual involved in all of them. The same deranged individual."

Charlotte took off her gloves, waiting for her meal. Just then, Eglantine came into the bar, looking for her mistress.

Charlotte groaned. "It appears that I might have to leave. Will you please do me a favor, Landry?"

"Anything, miss," he merrily replied.

"Buy me some time. I'd like to finish my dinner."

Landry smirked and grabbed a dirty tray on which he set more beer pints. He headed towards one of the tables and 'accidentally' bumped into Eglantine.

* * *

Charlotte and Luke watched as Landry accidentally-on-purpose spilled the tray of beer on the unsuspecting Eglantine. To be fair, the maid did try to move out of the way, but Landry's bulk prevented her from moving too much. Landry was like a wall.

"I'm so sorry, miss!" Landry cried out, pretty much getting everyone's attention. "So clumsy of me. I beg your pardon."

Landry's wife placed a plate of schnitzel in front of Charlotte. She nodded in appreciation, then the older woman rushed over to snap at her husband's clumsiness.

No one would've known that they were acting. Charlotte smiled into her mug of beer.

Luke was still watching the spectacle, completely bemused. A tug on his shirt cuff got his attention.

"Now, we only have a short period of time," Charlotte continued. "I want to hire you, Mr. Linnett."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't come cheap, you know."

In reply, she removed a brooch from her hair and placed it on his hand. It was a simple pin with an emerald on it—a tiny thing, but Luke knew how much it was worth.

"Is that enough?"

"It's too much."

"I would think you'd be grateful."

Luke tapped his foot impatiently as Landry offered Eglantine new clothes—and a place to stay for the night. Eglantine was politely trying to fight her way out of Landry's advances.

"Let me be frank, Countess—"

"Charlotte, please."

"Charlotte, then. Greed might be good in some lines of business, but not on this one. It could get you killed. And I prefer to keep myself alive. You see where I'm coming from?"

She nodded. "You're afraid this will get you killed."

He nodded as well.

Charlotte was silent for a few seconds. "You won't even want to know what I'm going to ask you to do?"

"Not particularly. Your husband is in the Mafia—I suppose you know all about _that_. I wouldn't want him to be an enemy."

An offer, Charlotte thought. I must offer him something he wants. But that was difficult, since she didn't know much about him.

"Listen," Charlotte said, lowering her voice even more. "All I want is for you to provide proof that there's a connection between the murders."

"And if there is?" Luke asked abruptly. "It won't make you come any closer to the murderer. Besides, there are better people out there. Why hire me?"

She smiled. "You are discreet, Mr. Linnett, and you know your way in these kinds of situations. I would do it myself, but my husband insists on monitoring me. I would of course guarantee your safety—"

At that, Luke had to laugh. Charlotte stared. He was still laughing when he sidled up close to her and pressed the muzzle of his gun to her stomach. She flinched.

"Guarantee my safety?" he said, chuckling. "When you can't even protect yourself?"

Charlotte put a hand on Luke's gun-hand wrist and twisted it. He yelped in pain, but did not let go of the gun.

She's good, Luke thought, not knowing that Charlotte was thinking the same thing about him.

"Do we have a deal, Mr. Linnett?" Charlotte asked the old journalist sweetly. His face was blank, but she knew it must hurt.

"Yeah, sure, now will you let go before you break something?"

Charlotte released him.

Luke massaged his wrist. "I make my living by writing, lady. I use these hands. I'd thank you not to destroy my source of income."

Charlotte continued to smile. "One more thing, Mr. Linnett. Please direct your communication to me, or to the sky, as you call him."

"A secret from the Earl," Luke said understandingly. "Very we—"

Charlotte and Luke jumped when Eglantine appeared behind them. She looked slightly disheveled in a plain dress that Landry's wife must have provided. Her beer-soaked clothes were in a small sack in her hands.

"My Lady, it is getting late—"

Charlotte sighed, and rose. "Good night, Mr. Linnett."

Luke only nodded as she left with Eglantine.

* * *

Alcott was not yet at home when she arrived. This did not surprise her.

"What did you talk about with Mr. Linnett?" Eglantine inquired as she helped her undress.

The lie came easily to her lips. "I want to protect Alcott's honor—all these murders are casting him in suspicious light. I was asking Mr. Linnett what the public's opinion of my husband was."

Eglantine paused, then nodded as she accepted the explanation. Charlotte wasn't about to tell her that it was she, Charlotte, who was the first one suspicious of Alcott.

"Is my bathwater hot?"

"It is, my lady."

Charlotte drew her bathrobe closer to her. "You are dismissed, Eglantine. I would go straight to bed after my bath."

"Yes, My Lady." She bowed and left.

In the bath, Charlotte thought some more about her encounter with the journalist. It made sense—that the murders were connected. What was the link, though? Would they have to wait for another murder?

All the stars were from different theatres. Different ages, genders, experiences. There was something suspicious about all of them but that didn't necessarily mean they were connected…

What was the connection?

She was still thinking as she returned to her room. There were some scripts of the theatre's upcoming plays on her table—she would have to read through those. Sebastian was due for a report that night.

Time passed.

She was completely absorbed in the scripts when a tap on her window surprised her. Her papers fluttered to the floor. She got up hastily and opened her window.

Sebastian slid in smoothly, still impeccably dressed at this time of the night.

"Good evening, my Lady."

"Good evening," she responded. "What news?"

"We have consulted the morgues," he said. "There seems to be no signs of struggle. No abductions, no locks forced, even in the drowning."

Charlotte's brows furrowed. "Someone they knew, then."

Sebastian shrugged. "Or they were taken by surprise. They might also have been unconscious before they were killed."

"Are there any rumors on the culprit?"

Sebastian paused slightly. "My Master thinks that murders on this scale were actually planned by a powerful enemy. This is not the work of a common criminal."

"I have consulted with someone about that," Charlotte said.

"Who?"

"Luke Linnett."

"The journalist who found Rebecca Cushing?"

"That's correct. He might contact you sometime soon."

"My lady, is he discreet?" Sebastian asked. "This job is a secret, after all…"

"Very much so," Charlotte said dismissively. "This is not the first time he had a client."

Sebastian thought about that for a minute, then nodded. "If you say so. Now, about the culprit…"

"Yes?"

"If there is a mastermind behind these killings, your own husband is a likely subject."

Charlotte sighed. "I know."

"Is there a way to find out if he has a connection—?"

Charlotte scowled. "We haven't spoken in days, my husband and I. I doubt he'll tell me anything."

"You are his wife," Sebastian pointed out, but his voice hinted at something more. "He will tell you anything, given the right motivation."

"And how do I motivate him?"

"Seduce him," Sebastian said bluntly.

"Seduce him? What do you mean?"

Sebastian drew closer, and Charlotte froze. His breath fanned over her lips, making her face tingle with excitement.

"Sebastian," she whispered.

His left arm wrapped around her waist, and his right hand cradled her head. Before she quite knew what was happening, Sebastian's lips were on hers, and she was responding. Her whole body was getting warmer. From her chest out ward.

Maybe she was only frustrated with the whole situation—hadn't the circumstances of their first encounter been like this?

She felt like a star, burning up.

She held Sebastian close to her, wanting the contact. She twisted her body to fit his.

"Charlotte."

Just hearing her name made her ache. She wanted this, so much.

Alcott was never—

She gasped. She drew back.

Sebastian let her go. He looked as if this was exactly what he had expected.

"You see?" he teased her, his crimson eyes gleaming strangely. "You do it beautifully."

"Sebastian, I—"

"I will inform my Lord of your news," Sebastian said. His smile was firmly in place. "Please try to get information on Lord Aethelburg—even if it's only to remove him from the suspect list."

She nodded. She hadn't shared a kiss like that with Alcott. She doubted she ever gave so much feeling in a kiss.

The butler smiled wider, and kissed her again—this time a chaste kiss, on the lips nonetheless. "Remember not to fall asleep before he does. Sweet dreams, my Lady Charlotte."

She blinked and he was gone.

* * *

When Alcott finally came home, half an hour later, it was to find Charlotte on his bed. She was semi-composed, which she supposed would have to do.

"Charlotte." Alcott's voice was flat. "It's two in the morning. Why are you still up?"

"I wanted to apologize," she mumbled. "These past few weeks, I think we've been having a ridiculous fight. I don't want that, Alcott."

"You were the one who started it."

She sighed. "You are my _husband_. I would never be disloyal." Even as she said the words, she remembered Sebastian. She bowed her head to hide her face.

She was startled when she heard the creak of bedsprings. "Alco—" she began, but was cut off by Alcott's cold lips on hers. In comparison, Sebastian had been so warm.

She kissed her husband back.

They pulled apart for air. Fire smoldered in Alcott's eyes. "Never again," he growled. "Never do that to me again."

"I promise," she said, her breath hitching. This time it was she who brought her lips to his, and she could feel Alcott smile into the deeper kiss. He embraced her, pushing her gently onto the bed.

"Never," Alcott repeated.

"Of course."

He lifted her nightgown to shower her naked torso with light kisses. Charlotte shivered, and she could hear Alcott's heavy breathing.

"We haven't spent much time together," she said, threading her fingers through his long hair, to stall what she knew this would lead to. "What have you been up to?"

He paused in his attentions of her to look up. "The Mafia's getting restless. I had to take them in hand."

"In hand?"

"It's nothing, it's over. They're thinking that there might be a Mafia rival out there, because of the theatre murders."

Charlotte smiled in triumph and excitement. She didn't expect this to come so soon. "And is there?" she asked coyly, as she helped Alcott undress. His slender chest warmed under her fingertips.

He kissed her chest again. "The Mafia is powerful."

Which didn't really answer her question.

Alcott lay her on their bed again, and now his eyes were overly bright. "Enough about work. My sweet, sweet Charlotte—I forgive you. Tomorrow I'm taking Eglantine off your surveillance. She has told me you contacted Luke Linnett out of concern for me. He is a very useful man—it was clever to get him on your side."

She winced mentally. She hadn't planned on Luke being seen that way by Alcott, but if it erased his suspicions of her, she knew that she was going to have to encourage it. "I'm glad you approve."

"Charlotte," he whispered, as soft as the silk sheets they were lying on.

Charlotte closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.

* * *

Later, when Alcott was asleep and just when the sun was rising, she left the bed. Alcott had a look of dreamy contentment on his face, and Charlotte couldn't help but stare at the grey circles under his eyes.

Alcott, what have you been up to? After his gentleness last night, it was hard to believe that he was a murderer, but that was exactly what he was.

Charlotte walked over to his wardrobe and opened it. Nothing. Clothes, of course. She approached the small table in a corner of his room. This was more promising, as there were a lot of documents on it. However, a quick peek told her that they weren't anything important—just receipts for the theatre expenses, proposals for new plays.

She knew where he kept the things he considered confidential, after all this time, she had to know. She wouldn't have been his top spy if she didn't.

There was a drawer in the table, one with a false bottom. She lifted the wooden lid and frowned in confusion.

The last time she had snooped through his private drawer, she saw nothing of too much interest—a gun, a small knife, a picture of his family, a portrait of Beatrice and himself. A lock of her hair. A portrait of her. A list of names—which she later found out was a list of people with debts to the Mafia.

He had been careful not to keep anything that would implicate him. Alcott had planned ahead that much.

But now, although there had been those things, there were two things added: a packet and half of an opera ticket. Why would he hide these?

She inspected the ticket. It was dated a week ago, an invitation to Sarah Schneider's operetta performance. Charlotte dropped the ticket in shock when she realized that she was holding a ticket to what must have been Sarah's last performance. The date…

She lifted the packet and opened it, rather carelessly, and almost spilled the brown powder within. Cursing slightly, she opened it more carefully. Was it poison?

Perhaps she ought to ask Sebastian or Luke what this powder was. They would know.

It smelled strange, this powder. She took an envelope lying on Alcott's desk and poured a little of the powder within. She hoped that Alcott wouldn't notice the theft.

* * *

~Later that morning, at breakfast~

~Phantomhive Estate~

Ciel Phantomhive gazed thoughtfully at Sebastian. "So, she has contacted Luke Linnett?"

"Yes."

"Find out what you can about this person—if he's trustworthy, if he has shady business, if he has strange habits. Anything you can, even his background if you can manage it. I don't know anything about him, except for the fact that he's a journalist."

Sebastian smiled. "It would be nothing."

"Hm," Ciel snorted. "It should be." He opened the paper, and his uncovered eye narrowed. "And hurry. There's been another murder."

'Theater actor commits suicide

Harold Crewe, 30 years old, a new actor at the Kingsyard Theatre, died of opium overdose and was found lying at Paddington Station. The station-master thought Mr. Crewe was a homeless beggar, until he saw that he was not breathing. Mr. Patrick Brixton, the station master in question, immediately contacted the police.

There were no signs of a struggle. He was last seen to retire to his rooms at ten the previous night. It is proposed that he went out again after midnight.

The Scotland Yard believe it a suicide, since Mr. Crewe's habits are well known.

The Kingsyard Theatre deeply grieves this incident, especially since Mr. Crewe had seemed to be on the way to recovery from his addictions.'

* * *

_~The second act will be continued with scene 6 on November 3rd. Many thanks to my friend aeon fear!~_


	11. II Scene 6

Scene 6

* * *

It took a great deal of Charlotte's acting skills to contain her surprise upon reading the morning paper. "My God...another one," she whispered astonished.

Alcott glanced at his wife over his cup of tea. "This one appears to be a suicide, though," he told her calmly.

"Oh, please, Alcott, you should know better," she replied as she folded the paper and put it aside. "To be honest, I am quite scared. Kingsyard Theatre is just across the street from The Phoenix, is it not? I feel that it's getting too close."

Alcott couldn't help but chuckle lightly and took Charlotte's hand, "My dear Charlotte, you must have no fear and no worries. Eglantine and I will take good care of you, I promise." His voice was so gentle and his smile so sweet that her cheeks flushed with a warmth she had considered long forgotten. "Let us go now," he continued, "Henry will take you to the theater."

They stood up at the same time and the faithful Eglantine followed them to the hall. Alcott helped his wife into her coat then put his on, along with his hat, grabbed his cane and took Charlotte to the carriage.

"I will be late tonight. Dine without me and sleep early. You need to rest more."

"Oh, but Alcott…," she began her protest.

"Fret not, my dear, I will come to have lunch with you."

Her face immediately lit up and her arms circled his torso, as she was shorter than him. He cupped her face, kissing her with such a passion that it was difficult for him to break apart. However, he knew he had to and, thinking of the other night, he smiled, completely confident in himself and her affection for him.

"'Till lunch, my dear!" he waved her off and turned to Eglantine. "Now, let us do our business, shall we?" Eglantine bowed and left, coming back in an automobile. Alcott got in and the maid drove away while her master was casually whistling.

* * *

Charlotte wished she could somehow get in touch with Sebastian, to not only let him know that Eglantine was no longer following her around, but also to give him the powder she had found in Alcott's secret drawer. There had just been another murder and she would not want to delay the process of solving this hideous mystery.

She sighed deeply as she stood in front of the mirror. Her chamber was so silent that her ears buzzed. She did not realize that she had clenched her fingers on the edge of the dressing table.

Her expression was so fierce but at the same time, so blank, that her big eyes appeared to be gazing beyond the mirror, into some odd nothingness, where she hoped to find someone she could rely on, someone who could support her and all her lies.

A crazy thought invaded her mind, an image of Sebastian smirking slyly as he always did.

Suddenly, her eyes began to hurt, her head began to ache and her knees began to shake. She shut her eyes tightly but it did not relieve the pain. Her brain was fuzzy, filled with names of the deceased celebrities and scraps from the newspaper articles, with worry and doubt and fear, with faces, all sorts. She was a strong woman, she had to be. She had to withstand it all.

But why? For what purpose? For whose sake?

Unable to find a satisfying answer to these questions, her overloaded brain simply shut down, causing her to lose consciousness for a short while and collapse. Fortunately, a strong arm grasped her frail body before she fell down and placed her tenderly on the bed. The much too familiar scent ignited Charlotte's senses, bringing her back from the void into which she had drowned.

"Sebastian…," she muttered slowly. Her small hand reached out to his face. He took it with utmost care and put it on his cheek.

"Yes, my lady?" He spoke so softly that she would not have believed it was him, had she not seen his scarlet orbs, as cunning as she remembered them.

"Why are you here?" She attempted to sit up but she could only manage to rest on her elbow.

"I have found out that your unusual maid was off your tail and came to see what you discovered last night. But I see that you are in no condition to discuss such matters. I shall be back later."

He bowed with his hand on his chest and turned around. "Wait!" Charlotte called with such despair that it disturbed even the ever-collected butler. "Wait, please. Don't go, not just yet." She rolled out of bed with a thud.

Sebastian picked her up carefully but she clung to him in such a manner that he just could not let go of her. Unexpectedly, she started to sob in his arms, quiet, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. To say that he was taken aback would be an understatement. His eyes widened as he sat on the floor with a crying Charlotte glued to him, like a lost, starving kitten.

He had known her for while but never witnessed such displays of her weakness. Charlotte had always been composed, which was probably the main reason for her breaking down like that. She was psychologically tormented and there was no cure to treat such ailments.

She did not have a demon to give her strength, like his master did or like Alcott did. She was alone, entirely alone, and he was the only who would reach out a hand to her every once in a while.

Then a strange thought occurred to him: he should do it more often. It wasn't like it would be a fully selfless act. Recalling that teasing kiss and the night of passion they had shared some weeks ago, Sebastian smirked to himself and responded to the awkward hug. Charlotte relaxed instantly, as if she had melted into his arms.

The sobs turned into heavy breathing and the tears stopped flowing. After a couple of minutes, she was back to her normal state of mind and reluctantly pulled away from the demonic butler. She didn't dare to look up at first but Sebastian grabbed her chin and brought her face closer to his.

He caught her lips in an ardent kiss, sending flames throughout her whole being. "This is to keep you going for the rest of the day," said he, "Now, if there is anything you would like to tell me, please do so." He helped her up and resumed his imperturbable attitude.

Charlotte straightened out her dress and cleared her throat before reaching into her corset to take out the envelope with the brown powder. "Here," she handed it to Sebastian, "I found it in Alcott's secret drawer last night. There was more of it, though, along with part of a ticket to Sarah's Schneider's last concert."

Sebastian opened the envelope and sniffed its contents. "It appears to be opium," he stated.

Charlotte avoided his gaze. After reading the newspaper, she had hoped it to be anything but opium.

"However, I cannot be certain just from this," he added to comfort her. "I will let you know for sure later today."

She smiled bitterly, acknowledging his attempt to console her. "Also, there is something else, although these are just my personal opinions about the victims."

Sebastian smiled, "An artist's impression of another artist is often the right one. Go ahead."

She told him about Julian Kane, Rebecca Cushing, Sarah Schneider and James Johnson, all the while gathering her thoughts on Harold Crewe. "Lastly, this man from the Kingsyard Theater. I just read the paper this morning. It is true that he had some bad habits but I know nothing certain. I once saw him at a party, shortly after I was ridiculed in one of James Johnson's shows."

Sebastian flinched unnoticeably.

"I remember he came to me and shook my hand, congratulating me. He said, and I quote, 'Very well done, Lady Aethelburg'. Alcott later told me that being ridiculed by Johnson was considered by some a sign of popularity. I will find out more today from my colleagues. Make sure to come tonight. Alcott will be late," she added on a suggestive tone.

"Is that so?" he muttered slyly, "Well then, see you again tonight." He walked to the window and hopped out, vanishing into thin air.

Charlotte finally allowed herself to exhale properly, falling on the nearby chair.

* * *

"So, what do you have on Luke Linnett?" Ciel asked his butler as he was sipping his tea.

"I'm glad you asked," Sebastian replied, "I have discovered something very interesting."

"What is that?" Ciel glanced curiously at Sebastian, who seemed to have something up his sleeve.

"Apparently, Luke Linnett has worked with the previous Earl Phantomhive."

Ciel's eye doubled in size. He had expected anything but that.

"He's quite well known among thugs of all sorts. He also possesses valuable information which is bothering some of London's most prominent nobles. However, he knows the weight of gold and could, in this respect, be called a businessman."

"How come we haven't noticed him sooner?" Ciel wondered aloud.

"He has worked with the Earl Aethelburg before which is why Lady Aethelburg has approached him."

"Lottie knows Luke?"

Sebastian nodded, "She has seen him once, while you father was still alive, around the same time when she was…recruited. Yesterday, Earl Aethelburg invited him to The Phoenix to discuss some delicate matters and Lady Aethelburg then took him out to dinner."

"Why?"

Sebastian smiled smugly, "She hired him to find a connection between the murders but I personally believe that she just wanted to set him on her husband's trail."

"Did she succeed?" A tinge of worry seemed to linger in the boy's voice.

"Yes, I think so. Young Master, may I know what your concern for Lady Aethelburg is?" Sebastian inquired with hidden interest.

Ciel looked out the large window, as he held his ring up to his face. "I have known her for a while now, ever since she was just a struggling lady, fresh out of the circus, before she became that man's wife."

He paused. "I was still a child back then but I can clearly remember that watching her performances together…" He paused again, clenching his fists. "Anyway," he turned around, hands at his back, "she was dragged into this but she has no reason to be a part of it. Unlike me."

Sebastian kept smiling, "Then should I look out for her safety?"

"That's what Alcott's demon maid is for. He cares about his wife but that's not the issue here. Humans are weak. Alcott too would not have been what he is now, had it not been for that maid."

"Then I suppose you should be more supportive of Lady Aethelburg," Sebastian suggested with a smirk.

Ciel laughed, "I couldn't even if I wanted to. I'm still a child in her eyes." He snorted with a superior air, as if saying: 'ignorant woman, she has no idea how great I actually am'.

Sebastian remained quiet but his irises were smoldering, fired up by an unknown desire.

* * *

Alcott did come to have lunch with his beloved wife but only for a brief while. Charlotte pretended to be upset, although she didn't quite mind. Alcott's quick departure gave her more time for herself. She could sit alone and enjoy her tea without worrying that she might say something unnecessary.

With a sigh, Charlotte leaned back in her seat and looked out the window at the hustle of London, at the carriages relentlessly going to and fro, at the people wandering the streets, each with a different purpose but with the same thing in mind: survival.

Her eyes lingered on a woman who sat down on the pavement, holding a baby to her chest. A man came out from a bakery behind the woman, holding a small piece of bread. He sat down, too, and shared the bread with his wife.

Across the street, there was another couple. But these two were well-dressed and walked arm in arm, with sweet smiles adorning their faces.

Charlotte didn't know what was it that made her cringe but she herself was taken aback by the grimace reflected in the window. She left the restaurant with bitter thoughts and headed straight for the theater. She couldn't wait to get into her costume and begin rehearsing. It was the only time when she could truly be herself.

* * *

The night seemed to be darker than usual. Or was it just her imagination? Charlotte lay on her bed, awaiting Sebastian's arrival while staring at the ceiling. There was no moon and the stars were scarce. Probably covered by fog. An awful thing, this fog of the English. Charlotte had always dreaded it.

She had left the window open, although she knew it wasn't necessary. It only showed how eager she was to see him. However, she was still startled when he popped at her side out of nowhere.

"You're more silent than a cat," she whispered as she sat up.

He only smiled. "What do you have for me?"

Charlotte rubbed her eyes sleepily, "Well, rumor has it that Mr. Crewe was indeed an opium addict. Which gets me thinking about Julian Kane and his Turk friends. By the way," she paused, then asked with a straight face: "Was that really opium in Alcott's drawer?"

Sebastian looked at Charlotte for a moment. Although they had been associated for quite some time now, there were times when he could not read her mind.

This was one of those times.

"Yes," he answered. "It was opium. I am certain now."

"I see," Charlotte said bleakly. "Any idea how he might have come by it?"

"I do not, my lady. But he is Mafia, perhaps…"

She was evidently considering it. "Do you think my husband is addicted to opium?"

* * *

What she had actually wanted to ask was whether Sebastian thought that Alcott had any connection to the murders.

Sebastian's voice was steady as he answered her. "Have you noticed any strange odors around him? Restlessness? Weakness? Trembling?"

She shook her head at each symptom. "You sound like a doctor," she said with a feeble smile.

He smiled back. "I am only one hell of a butler."

"You always say that," Charlotte shot back. "What does it mean?"

"Only what it means."

"I don't understand."

"I wouldn't expect you to." He smiled, more widely this time, and she noticed for the first time that he had fang-like teeth. "But first I must extend my congratulations."

"For what exactly?"

"You seduced Earl Aethelburg successfully."

She stared. "Did you think that I would not?"

Suddenly he was close enough to whisper in her ear, "I'm only a bit jealous—I thought that you only used your techniques on me."

And she couldn't stop the smile that curved on her lips as he held her close. Curiously enough, he was not that warm.

"You're cold," she realized, pulling away from him. "Just how did you get here?"

"I walked," he replied.

"In this weather?" She eyed him. He was wearing nothing but his butler's uniform. "Let me fetch you a coat."

"Thank you, my lady, but I am not cold, and I cannot stay long. I only came to invite you to come with me to-morrow."

"Wh…Where to?" she stuttered.

"Chinatown. We have a contact there who is an expert on opium."

"Will Ciel be there?"

"Unfortunately, my Master is ill."

"Ill!" she exclaimed, forgetting about everything else. "Ciel is ill! Sebastian, why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"You seemed otherwise preoccupied," Sebastian said with a smirk.

She blushed hotly.

"But he will be all right. The doctor has recommended rest, and he has the entire Phantomhive household to nurse him, plus a couple who aren't part of the household but will be useful. They're under strict—" and here the butler's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, "—strict orders not to make him worse. For my part, Master has told me to investigate Chinatown with you. Will you be available?"

She nodded. Tomorrow was one of her rare days off—Alcott had given her one.

"'Till tomorrow then." He walked to her door, but paused. "Has Luke Linnett contacted you yet?"

"No."

"Very well then, but I hope we would hear of him soon."

* * *

The next morning, the journalist in question rose from his bed, still bleary-eyed. He detested waking up early, but it was necessary if he wanted to catch his contact.

Harold Crewe was the latest in the string of theatre actor deaths, and Luke was definitely sure that there was something more on how he died. To everyone it was an opium addiction gone wrong.

He just wasn't sure how he knew. He had been investigating the deaths since the Countess had given him the job, but the links were only sketchy. None of the actors or actresses had been well-liked in the society, and they all had the opportunity to dabble in something dangerous. It was entirely possible that a person had the same grudge against them—perhaps something to do with opium? Julian Kane was definitely a smuggler.

And this Crewe death…

There was another link that he found curious. They all died within different days of the week.

Julian Kane died on a Monday, Rebecca on a Tuesday. Sarah died on Wednesday, and James Johnson on Thursday. They didn't die one after the other, of course, but Luke noted it.

Harold Crewe…there was no mention of his time of death in the newspapers, but Luke knew of a person who could tell him.

* * *

He took a cab to Paddington station and walked a few streets before he came to a small clinic with a brass nameplate: Dr. Matthew Linnett. Luke smiled, shook his head, and rang the bell.

It was his sister-in-law who opened the door for him. "Luke! We haven't had your company in a long time. Come in! Matt's just opened his practice."

"Thank you," he said. "Where are the kids?"

"Out playing."

"I see," Luke said, but only got as far as that before Matthew came out of a room and spotted him.

"Luke!" Matthew cried out. "You actually got up before noon. This must be important."

Luke scowled, but Matt only laughed. He turned to his wife and said, "Please leave us alone for a few moments."

"Of course. Tea?"

"No, I won't be long," Luke said quietly.

Matt led him to his tiny clinic, where he fixed his youngest brother with a sharp gaze. Matt had light brown hair and brown eyes, older than Luke by five years, but aside from these differences they looked much alike.

"Well?"

"I wanted to ask you about Harold Crewe," Luke said immediately.

"Why?"

"Newspaper."

"Everything you need to know is in the papers. And you're a bit late if you think you can publish anything new."

Going to Matt for information about his patients was a bit like trying to get a priest to confess someone else's sins. Luke sighed. "I mean something not mentioned in the papers. I know you must be the one who declared him dead, you're the nearest doctor around Paddington."

They sat in silence for a while, waiting for the first one to crack.

"It won't be published," Luke said finally. "When and how did he die?"

Matt shook his head. "Luke, you're not playing detective again, are you?"

"Only if I get to the bottom of it."

"There is no bottom." Matt rose and took a small packet from his drawer. "Stay away from the case, Lou."

Luke accepted the packet and opened it. It was about a teaspoon's worth of brown grains, some lighter in color, some darker. The darker ones were stained with…

"Blood?" Luke breathed.

Matt nodded grimly. "Someone forced opium down his nose. A large amount apparently. I found that after the examination. He died last Friday night."

Luke narrowed his eyes. There was the week-link right there. "Murder?"

"Is not a new thing in this world." Matt finished. "We may never know the reason why."

Luke stood up, the packet still in his hand. The blood of Harold Crewe had coagulated the opium grains. "We can try," he said quietly, then left.


	12. II Scene 7

Scene 7

* * *

Charlotte and Sebastian walked through Chinatown, heading straight for the docks.

"Who is this person that knows about opium?" Charlotte asked the butler.

"His name is Lau. He's a dealer in opium. Even if he's not the one who traded it, he would know something about how it got to the actors' hands."

She looked at him skeptically. "And can he be trusted?"

"As well as one can," Sebastian answered, "He is Young Master's informant. Although you must be careful when dealing with him."

"Why?"

"Because he would have known you by now. Lao is a cunning man, and he does not give information easily."

"Is he dangerous?"

Sebastian gave her a sharp stare. "Nothing's dangerous when you are with me. The only danger comes from me."

* * *

Luke wanted to tell Charlotte right away, but was informed that she was out, and no one seemed to know when she would return. Luke had gone to her theatre with the same results.

So he had no choice but to take another cab (his morning was utterly destroyed now, this was why he slept in during mornings) to a familiar manor, one that he thought he would never enter again. It had been more than three years since he last stepped in the Phantomhive Estate.

It looked different, Luke thought, but the same. The timid maid had told him that the Young Master was ill.

"Ciel's sick?" he said, startled. "Why?"

"Ah…h-he has a fever and…"

Just then a loud crash resounded from the first floor. Luke pushed past the maid and rushed upstairs.

He had almost gone to Ciel's old room when he realized that the commotion was not in that wing, but in Vincent's old room.

"Sir! You can't go in there!"

Luke ignored the voice. He went to Vincent's room, where he was greeted by an astonishing sight: an Indian prince-like youth was sprawled on the floor with a spilled tureen of what looked like soup around him. Another Indian, this time a man, was fussing over him, and there was a blond cook who was cursing.

And there was Ciel on the bed, looking pale and exhausted. He looked angry…and since when did he wear an eye patch?

"Get out, all of you!" the child on the bed yelled.

"I'm so sorry Ciel~!" the prince blubbered.

"Forget it, just—Bard, clean that up. We—"

Suddenly Ciel caught sight of Luke standing in the doorway.

"Who are you?"

Before he could answer, he was seized from behind. The next thing he knew, he was lying at the end of the hallway with no recollection of how he got there. His back hurt like hell, and when he looked up he saw a dent on the wall.

"What the—?"

"Who are you?" shouted another boy with a straw hat. "How did you get in?"

"Through the door?" he suggested. "Ow, my back!" He staggered to his feet.

"Who was that?" he heard someone ask again.

After that came a riot of confusion, wherein everyone seemed to think he was a threat to Ciel. Luke was getting more and more irritated, until he finally fired his gun in the air.

Everyone froze.

"Now, to start over," Luke said furiously. "Like I told your maid at the gate, I am Luke Linnett, and I've been sent by Countess Charlotte Aethelburg, to talk to your damn puppy Earl."

"Who's the puppy Earl?" the Indian prince asked nobody in particular.

"You're Luke Linnett?" Ciel said incredulously.

"Do you need my card?" Luke replied, stowing his revolver into his pocket.

Man and child looked at each other for a minute. Then Ciel said, "We can meet in my room. Lottie asked you to report to me?"

"Yes. I tried to get to her but she's not around."

"I know," Ciel informed him. "She is with my butler." Ciel gestured for him to walk to his room, while leading the way himself.

Luke made to follow him, but the Indian man barred his way. "I'm afraid I must ask you to surrender your gun. No one is to enter Master Ciel's rooms armed."

"It's all right, Agni." Ciel said. "Mr. Linnett will not harm me."

"Damn right."

The straw-hat boy wasn't about to give in. "But, Young Master, you are ill—"

"Enough! I will be more ill if I don't talk to him."

And with that the others had to be content.

* * *

Charlotte, for all her experience with spy work, had not entered an opium den before. Sebastian warned her not to breathe too deeply, for the vapors could cause dizziness in the uninitiated.

Charlotte and Sebastian weaved their way through the bodies huddled together. Most of them were silent, though some were moaning softly.

"Why is it so dark in here?"

"Humans always try to escape reality. This is one of those realities."

Charlotte gave him a curious stare, but he did not explain his statement.

"There he is," Sebastian said, looking at some point ahead.

At first Charlotte could not see anything through the haze of smoke, but eventually she made out a Chinese man lounging on a soft couch, with a young Chinese girl in his lap.

"Lau," Sebastian said.

Lau smiled. Charlotte's first impression of the Chinese nobleman was that Sebastian was correct: here was a cunning man. Then he opened his mouth and said, "Sebastian! How wonderful! And this lady too!"

"Do you actually know her, Lau?" Sebastian asked.

"No."

Charlotte repressed a derisive snort. So he didn't know her. He sure acted like he did.

"This is the Lady Charlotte Aethelburg."

"Ah." For a second, Lau's eyes opened, and she caught a glimpse of shrewd, dark brown irises. "Of course. Forgive my rudeness."

She nodded stiffly.

"I suppose you're here because the Earl ordered you to?"

"You suppose correctly. And the information…"

"Will not come cheap."

Charlotte tensed. "Then, your price?"

Lau smiled again. "A K~I~I~I~S~S~ from the lady here is enough!"

Her jaw dropped. "W-What?"

If looks could kill, Sebastian's glare would have buried the Chinaman before he blinked next.

Lau knew perfectly well that Sebastian couldn't kill him without Ciel's express permission, so he only pointed to his cheek. "Here."

Charlotte was still speechless. Not once in all her years as a spy had she been asked for such a price. Alcott was her husband and Sebastian…

Sebastian…

Sebastian was an exception, damn it. Now she had to…this Chinaman…

Wait…What was that negative aura? It was much stronger than hers….

Charlotte looked up at her companion and backed away slightly. Sebastian was smiling as well, but that expression on his face…it reminded her of a demon after his prey.

"Uh…Sebastian?"

"Now, now, let's not go murdering anyone yet," Lau said cheerfully, "that kiss, my lady?"

Charlotte wondered why Lau was still smiling. If Sebastian was looking at her like _that_ she would be running for the hills.

Just how much did she want this information?

Too much...sadly.

Oh, just get it over with!

Charlotte marched forward with all the coordination of a puppet, and pecked Lau on the cheek. He smelled of the sweetish opium powder that she had found in Alcott's room. That, more than anything else, reminded her again of why she was there.

Then she returned to Sebastian's side. Lau had a satisfied smirk on his face. Sebastian wanted to wipe that expression off the Chinese noble's face and perhaps wipe him on the floor with it too, but he had his orders.

"Well?" Sebastian said when he could manage to speak calmly again.

"What information do you need?"

"Anything you might know of the theatre murders."

"Ah." Lau relaxed in his couch. "That…I don't know much."

And for a "nothing", he demanded a kiss? Maybe Charlotte should take a leaf out of Luke's book and begin trying to learn how to fire a gun. "Julian Kane," Charlotte said abruptly. "Was he a customer here?"

"No. Julian Kane took his opium supply from another source."

"Who?"

Lau's eyes opened fully again, and they were hard in the lamplight of the opium den. "My rival, of course. We are the major suppliers here. The Mafia. Your husband, Earl Alcott Aethelburg."

* * *

Luke made a few requests of the Phantomhive servants, then sat down by Ciel's bedside. He had insisted that Ciel should rest while he reported to him.

"How much do you know?" Ciel asked.

"Lady Charlotte has told me about the murders. I can guess the rest." Luke's light blue eyes stayed on Ciel's face. "You're taking over your old man's job, aren't you."

It wasn't a question.

"That isn't why she hired you," Ciel said. "Tell me about the connection of the murders."

Luke stared at him some more, then he sighed. "Very well then. What I have come up with are vague. Of course all are actors, or actresses. They all died at night, with no signs of a struggle. They also died within different days of the week, no two alike, in consecutive order. I asked around and came up with more.

"Julian Kane and Harold Crewe—the last murder—had clear links to opium," he continued. "Rebecca Cushing and Sarah Schneider had a few lovers in common. James Johnson…from what I hear, he was pretty unpopular. He was offensive. I wouldn't be surprised if he got killed by someone whom he offended."

Ciel thought about that, or tried to, with the fever clouding his brain. "Nothing in common?"

The reporter looked slightly frustrated. "This is speculation. But it's possible that they were killed by an opium addict, possibly a theatre actor or a patron. I can link Julian, Harold and James, but the women…a lover?"

"Could you get a list of the common lovers of Ms. Cushing and Ms. Schneider, then?"

"Yes."

"Good." Ciel closed his eyes. "Can't breathe…"

The door opened and Agni came in. He was pushing a wheeled tray with a pot of something on it.

"I don't want soup," grumbled Ciel.

"It's not soup," Agni said. "It's honey. Mr. Linnett requested it."

"Honey?"

"Hot water with honey," Luke said, distracted. He poured Ciel a cup, then helped him sit up. "Here, smell it."

Ciel glared at him suspiciously, but did as he was told. To his surprise, he felt his breathing ease.

"What—?"

Luke was smiling, smug. "I used to walk in on you being treated by your mother. I don't suppose you remember, but one of your favorite treatments was warm milk. With a lot of honey."

"I don't like milk. It's for kids."

Luke grunted. "You're a kid. It's the vapors of the honey that's good," he said, ignoring Ciel's statement. "You can have milk with honey later, but it might ruin your appetite for dinner."

"I don't have an appetite."

"You should eat." Luke said simply.

Ciel sniffed at the honey water some more. "So you did know my predecessor."

"Predecessor, huh? That's a funny way to address your parents," Luke remarked.

Ciel didn't reply. From what Sebastian said, Luke knew a lot more than he let on. He wasn't about to give him any information on himself, though a part of him wanted to ask about his parents.

"Ciel." Luke's eyes were grave.

Ciel thought that Luke would give him a warning about how he was doing an adult's job—another one who saw him as a kid—but what came out of his mouth was totally unexpected.

"Ciel, if the link is truly opium, Charlotte's husband, Alcott, could be behind it. He fits almost all the suspicions."

Ciel didn't reply to Luke immediately. He pondered on his words carefully. "I've been thinking about that, too. But I'm still waiting for a chance to confront him."

Luke frowned, "Confront him? How? Why?"

Ciel turned his head slowly, "His wife is also a performer. She could be a victim at any moment. There have been five murders, I'm not sure how many more there are to be but…if Alcott is behind it, then his wife can't be on the list."

Luke's brows furrowed in a thoughtful manner, "Don't you think he could do it on purpose, just to erase all suspicions?"

Ciel smirked, "He would never kill his wife."

"Not necessarily kill her. Considering Charlotte's skills, she could easily avoid death. He could make an easy move on her then claim that her circus experience helped her out of it."

"Well, I'm counting on that. But I can bet that it never occurred to him. He would hate having to hurt her."

"So why were you planning to confront him?"

"If I pointed it out, that fact that Lottie wasn't targeted, I mean, then he would rush to it right away. And by simply keeping her under close surveillance, we can catch the murderer."

Luke crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh, "But even if you catch him, he won't just lead you to Alcott, will he?"

"Oh, she will," Ciel answered while grinning and blankly staring ahead of him.

* * *

_~Updates will be more scarce from now on but they won't stop. Blame it on schoolwork -.-~_

_Also, another shoutout to aeon fear! Since the action has been picking up, I'm really curious to know what you think about it. So...please review? :o3_


	13. II Scene 8

Scene 8

* * *

Charlotte briefly avoided Lau's gaze then looked back up at him with a frown. She wanted to ask him for details but Sebastian beat her at it.

"And where does he get his opium from?" the butler inquired.

Lau shrugged, "Definitely not from China. He has another source which I am momentarily not aware of."

"Can you find out about it?" Charlotte intervened.

Lau opened his eyes again, more slowly this time. "I might be able to, yes."

"Then please do."

The Chinaman smiled slyly, "Why should I?"

"I didn't kiss you for nothing." She almost spat the words.

Lau seemed to enjoy it. "And what if I don't?"

It was Charlotte's turn to give a sly smile. Her piercing eyes fixed Lau's expression and she gave off an unusual aura. The one step she took forward was more threatening than any death warnings. Sebastian watched her with some sort of admiration.

"Oh, but you will. I do not want to have to come back here so please report to Sebastian or Earl Phantomhive. Well then." She bowed and turned around. She wasn't going to waste any more of her time.

But she didn't get too far, though, before Lau's Chinese girl jumped out of nowhere, trying to crush her. Fortunately, due to her acrobatic skills, Charlotte avoided it in time, amazing both the opium dealer and the butler.

Deeply irritated, Charlotte glared at the Chinaman before warning him one more time, "I will be waiting." Then she walked off. Sebastian bowed too and accompanied her, grinning smugly.

"That was quite the performance," he praised her, once outside.

"I'm an actress after all," she replied, while struggling to hold back a sigh of relief. "So what do we do now?" Charlotte stopped and looked him in the eye.

"I have to go back to the manor and report to the Young Master. Would you like to come?"

Charlotte nodded happily. "Yes, of course. I need to see how he's doing."

And just like that they left the docks, walking along the river. Charlotte took a short break to watch the water sparkling in the sun while the breeze whipped her hair. Her smile looked really bright, Sebastian didn't mind waiting for her.

"It's really pretty, isn't it?" she whispered.

Sebastian took one step closer, "I thought you wanted to see the young master." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, anticipating her response.

She nodded, "I do but…Right now, I…" She lowered her head, gathering up her determination. "Sebastian, do you drink?"

He blinked, confused, "Why do you ask?"

Charlotte began walking away and gestured the butler to follow her. She stopped for a second, even took a step back, just to walk in line with him. It was already cold and the butler looked quite respectable wearing his coat. All he needed was a hat and he could have easily passed for a noble. But he had something better than that: an elegant lady holding his arm.

"Lady Aethelburg, is this really all right? What if people see you?" he questioned, even more confused.

"Don't worry," she calmly said, pulling the brim of her already crooked hat forward.

Her hat was black, with a dark red stripe around it and decorated with feathers and a black flower on the right side. It was slightly crooked because her hair was pulled up at the back, covered by a black veil. The hat matched well with Charlotte's black jacket and dark red skirt.

"Where are we going?" Sebastian inquired.

"For a beer. Or would you prefer some wine?" She looked up so innocently at him as if she was talking about a glass of water.

"Do you usually drink in the middle of the day?"

With a thoughtful pout, she replied, "Yes, if it's beer. However, I haven't had the chance lately. I'm a lady, you see. And a performer." She smiled. "But today, since I am free and away from home, I would like to take advantage of that. Will you, please, accompany me?"

He hesitated for a moment, "Gladly, my lady. However, I am worried about the Young Master."

"But you told me that the entire household is looking after him. I…really…really need some time off." Her grasp on his arm tightened. "Yesterday…you remember, right? How I broke down…" She avoided looking at him.

If he remembered? Of course he did. After witnessing her weakness, he had decided to hold out his hand for her, because she didn't have a demon to give her strength. That is why, he would become her demon. Besides, he already had not only her soul, but also her heart in the middle of his palm.

"I understand." Sebastian put one of his hands over Charlotte's—hers both were holding his elbow. "Where shall we go?" He smiled.

"I know a place," Charlotte grinned. "And I know the perfect dish to eat while drinking beer. It is a bit too late for lunch now…what about dinner?"

Sebastian didn't quite mind. Be it lunch or dinner, human food was the same for him: useless. Still, he was curious as to what Lady Aethelburg would prepare for him.

"Whatever you wish to do, my lady." He would have bowed but he couldn't so instead he lightly grazed her gloved fingers with his. She perceived his answer well and resumed walking.

"Should we not take a cab? People might recognize you."

Charlotte shook her head, "Worry not. Besides, I feel like taking a walk. Do you mind?"

"Not at all, my lady."

She nodded, satisfied. "Well then."

They set off arm in arm, without saying a word. Charlotte was simply enjoying the evening air and Sebastian's presence, while Sebastian was observing her from the corner of his eye. Her posture was so proper that her flexible back was slightly arched. Tucked forward, her chin seemed even sharper. He didn't know if it was because of her acting skills or if she had already grasped the meaning and image of a lady, but, in his eyes, Charlotte lived up to her title.

* * *

After about an hour of walking in silence, avoiding the eyes of the passersby and stopping every now and then to admire the sunset, Charlotte and Sebastian arrived at Landry's bar, where the owner himself arranged a special table for them. This table was no different from the others. It was also made of wood, with four legs and a plain surface, without even a tablecloth, but it was situated somewhere at the back, where the light was dim and where no one ever looked.

Sebastian made his way through the drunken customers with ease and helped Charlotte out of her jacket before sitting down. She also took off her hat and gloves, leaving them on the table, then asked Landry's wife for permission to use the kitchen.

"Oh, but my lady, how could I possibly…" The woman shook her head, "No, no, no. just tell me what it is that you wanna and I will—"

Charlotte grabbed the woman's hand, "I know. But I want to cook it myself."

Landry's wife glanced displeased at Sebastian. The butler merely smiled sweetly in return but it was enough to melt the heart of the middle-aged woman. She turned her attention back to Charlotte, while smiling shyly—which caused Charlotte to frown as she looked back at the also smiling Sebastian.

"Oh, so be it!" Landry's wife dragged Charlotte—who was still in a daze—to the kitchen, even handed her an apron once there, and left the noble lady do her thing—bearing a bright expression on her face the whole time.

Therefore, Charlotte began cooking a Viennese specialty—schnitzel—while Sebastian patiently waited for his meal and at the same time observed the other customers of Landry's bar. He was in the perfect position: he could see everyone but no one could see him.

The first unusual fact that he noticed was that there were no women in that bar, aside from Charlotte and the owner's wife. The place was full of tired men, with dirty clothes and faces. Most of them had soot on their beards and foreheads. It was a place where all the low-class people gathered. He found nothing of interest amongst them but there was still someone who sparked his curiosity.

A younger man, practically a boy, was sitting by himself at a table in the far left corner of the bar. He had an empty glass before him, as well as an empty bottle. He didn't move at all, as if he had frozen. He was barely breathing. If he hadn't known better, Sebastian could have believed that he was dead.

When Charlotte came with the food, she caught the butler looking at the immovable boy. She set two plates and two pints of beer on the table and took a seat across from the butler.

"What is the matter?" she asked, following the direction of his gaze.

"Nothing. Why, is something wrong?" he replied sweetly.

Charlotte shrugged, "I don't know. You were looking so intently at that boy. I found it suspicious."

Sebastian grinned as he grabbed his fork, "Jealous?"

She snorted but didn't answer. "There are a lot of strange characters lurking around here. I have ceased to be surprised."

"Do you often come to this place?"

Charlotte shook her head, "No. I do not quite have the opportunity. I have come before with Eglantine. But I was uncomfortable, having her follow me like a shadow." She gulped down half of the pint at once. "I shouldn't be doing this, should I? I'm supposed to be a lady."

Sebastian only smiled and continued to eat his schnitzel like a gentleman. Charlotte had given up the fork and knife after cutting the piece of meat in half. She held half of it in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other. Once in a while she let go of the bread to drink some beer. Sebastian was fascinated. That lady from before had suddenly turned into…this. Upon closer sight, she was not much different from the men who had come there for a drink after a long day of hard work.

"Should we go for a walk after we finish?" she suddenly suggested.

"Where would you like to go?" Sebastian put his fork down and wiped his mouth.

Charlotte shrugged, "Just…around."

"Then…shall we?"

She smiled as Sebastian stood up and held out his hand to her. With a nod, Charlotte stood up as well and they both left, arm in arm.

* * *

Unknowingly, the two ended up on the London Bridge, walking mostly in silence. There were hardly any people around as it was already late. There was no moon so the streets were dark. But Charlotte wasn't afraid. For as long as she could hold onto Sebastian, she felt perfectly safe.

"London appears to be quite scary at night," Charlotte whispered.

The butler glanced at her, grinning, "Are you scared, my lady?"

She shook her head, "No."

"Should you not be home at this tardy hour?" he continued.

Charlotte pondered her answer for a few seconds, "Maybe I should. But Eglantine didn't come looking for me which means that Alcott is busy."

For some reason, his eyes narrowed. "Is he always busy at such hours?"

"Oh, of course. However," she tilted her head, "I don't know much of his business and whereabouts these days. I never knew that he was involved with opium."

She stepped closer to the railings and looked down at the water. Sebastian watched her carefully. Why was she so sad out of the blue? Did she care that much about her husband? Curious, he voiced that question but received no answer. Instead, he saw her bend lower over the railing but before he could pull her back she fell down in the water right before his eyes.

With no second thoughts, the butler dove into the river, holding his hand out through the cloud of blood formed in the water. Charlotte was slowly sinking, without even attempting to swim to the surface. She was already unconscious. However, Sebastian reached her quickly. He first grabbed her arm, and then held her close to his body.

With a hand on her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, he came out of the water with ease and set her down on the cold stone. He daringly took off her dress and inspected her body. There was a bullet hole in her right shoulder. It didn't appear to be life-threatening but it required medical intervention nonetheless.

In spite of the urgency of the matter, Sebastian couldn't help but look around himself to see where the shot had come from. There were many possible hiding places for a sniper all around him but there was something strange. He hadn't heard the shot, nor had he seen the bullet.

It was quite an amazing feat for the one who had fired. It made Sebastian not only extremely suspicious, but also incredibly irritated. The fact that he had been unable to protect Charlotte meant that the sniper was better than him, or at least better than what he had expected. It meant that it had been a demon.

* * *

Ciel came back from the front door with an exhausted expression. He had just seen Agni and his prince off and couldn't wait to go to bed. It had been a tiring day and had it not been for Luke, his uninvited guests would have pestered him even more. Where was Sebastian when he needed him?

The young Earl sighed and shook his head as he went to his room, wondering why his faithful butler had spent so much time outside. However, his line of thought was interrupted by an unexpected sight.

Upon hearing noises coming from the guest bedroom, Ciel opened the door. As he entered, he saw Sebastian coming in through the window with an unconscious Charlotte in his arms. He had no gloves and no jacket and his shirt was dirtied by blood. On top of that, he bore an unusual expression, irritated, annoyed, frustrated and worried at the same time.

"Wh-What happened?" Ciel asked, completely taken aback.

Sebastian set Charlotte down on the bed and avoided looking at his master. His eyes were gleaming. "My deepest apologies, but…I have no idea."


	14. Act 3, Scene 1

_**Act 3**_

* * *

Scene 1

* * *

Charlotte woke to dull pain. Her eyes focused on a point far above her, and for a second she could not understand where she was or what she was doing there. She was comfortable, despite that ache.

Then someone asked, "How are you feeling?"

She turned her head.

Her mouth dropped open as she saw Ciel Phantomhive and her husband, Alcott, standing over her. Alcott looked half mad with worry. Ciel looked worried, as well, but there was something more. He was confused, too.

"Darling?" Alcott prompted.

"Where…am I? What happened?"

"You're in your room, love." Alcott whispered, sitting on her bed and stroking her face. "Don't you remember what happened?"

Well she wouldn't have been asking if she had. She frowned, trying to concentrate. "I was walking—" She tried to sit up, then yelped as pain shot through her. "_Ow_!"

"Just lie down, Lottie," Ciel said. "You've been shot."

"Shot? Shot how?"

The gears of her mind were turning faster now, and she was beginning to remember. She plopped down on her pillows. What was going on? Why was Alcott here? Did Ciel call him? What did Ciel tell Alcott? How did Alcott find out that she was here?

Where was Sebastian?

Was he shot, too?

Her breathing accelerated in anxiety.

"You were on your way home when you were shot," Alcott said. "Earl Phantomhive and his butler saw you by the LondonBridge. They brought you here."

"Did you see who shot you?" Ciel asked. A look passed between them. A warning that they should lie, and keep up this charade.

And so Charlotte shook her head. "It was dark. I was looking at the water…just thinking. Then I was here."

It wasn't even a lie. But she wanted, desperately needed some news.

Yet how could they talk with Alcott there?

She glanced at Alcott, then shivered. Her husband's face was rigid with fury. "I swear I'll get to the bottom of this, Charlotte."

"Alcott—"

"You rest for now. The doctor's come and gone. The bullet didn't hit anything vital—thank Heaven for that—and it passed right through. But you won't be doing any plays for about a month. Layla and Eglantine will take care of anything you might need," Alcott promised. "By then I might have even captured the ones who did this to you."

Charlotte could see nothing but concern in her husband's eyes, and all of a sudden she felt a twinge of pain that had nothing to do with her recent injury. And she'd been so contented at Landry's…

Then something he just said sank in. "A month?!"

"You need to rest, Lottie," Ciel said. "Everything's going to be taken care of."

By everything…what did Ciel mean? The murders? The drugs? Lau? If she was going to be guarded around the clock, how was she supposed to keep up with her spying job?

Alcott looked at Ciel critically. "And you didn't see anything, either?"

Ciel's voice was cold when he answered. "Let me assure you that I have tried."

Alcott still stared. Finally, he said, "I can offer you my full help in investigating the matter. Perhaps we can work together."

Ciel and Charlotte exchanged a startled glance. Now knowing who Alcott was, his offer of help was generous.

_If_ he wasn't the killer.

"Perhaps," was all Ciel said. He picked up his hat from her bedside table, and his cane from his side. "Sleep well, Lottie. Earl Aethelburg." He tipped his hat to Alcott, then left quietly.

"Was he alone? When he came here?" Charlotte asked Alcott at once, as soon as silence settled.

"No," Alcott said. "His butler was with him. However, there's no way that I will allow that man to cross the threshold of my house."

So at least Sebastian wasn't hurt. Charlotte, slightly hysterically, considered telling Alcott that Sebastian regularly made visits to her late at night. It didn't seem so possible now, though.

She felt drained, even though she had only been awake a few minutes. Her eyes were closing.

"Sleep now, love. I'll take care of it," Alcott vowed. He kissed her on the forehead, but his words, far from reassuring, made her worry all the more.

What was Alcott planning to do?

* * *

Of course, by the time Ciel entered his carriage, Sebastian was already there.

"Any news?"

"I have searched every building that could hide a sniper, those ones that are around the London Bridge," came the efficient reply, "but there was nothing."

"Further proof that there's a demon behind this. I see. However...your plans for tonight were rather random. Was there anyone who knew where you would go?"

Sebastian paused. Lau, he was sure, would have no idea, although he could have had them followed. The barkeeper Landry and his wife wouldn't have the means to follow them. And Sebastian was sure he would sense it if a demon was associated with them. No, it had to be…

Landry's bar.

There was a youth there—a man-boy, blank-faced and dull. At the time he thought he was drunk—disgusting humans—but now he wondered…

"Sebastian?"

"There might be something," he murmured. It was the proverbial needle in a haystack—how was he going to search for a generic human in a city like this? "But I would need time."

Ciel snorted. "Since Lottie would be out of it for a while I think you can have time. We also need to think up of a way to let her know how the case is going. I would say that Alcott is definitely suspicious of us. I'm still not sure what to make of his offer to help.

Sebastian glanced at his Master. "There is a way…"

* * *

Luke, fully exhausted after a day with Ciel, collapsed into bed and didn't get up until noon of the next day. He headed straight to his desk in a haze of sleepiness.

That was why he didn't notice at once the paper on his desk—his own newspaper's morning edition. Even then, he stared at the words without seeing them, really.

Suddenly he shot up from his desk with a yell. "What the—!"

Half a dozen heads turned to look at him. Luke barely registered the faces, for on the front page was a story about Countess Charlotte Aethelburg being shot.

Luke scanned the article feverishly. It was short, and thankfully not the headline. It told of how the Countess was shot by an unknown mugger at approximately midnight last night. She was in the care of her husband.

Luke slumped down in his seat. Was this even…Their newspaper did not print such baseless rumors. Who was the writer of this article? Luke would have to strangle the information out of _him_ first, before calling Ciel or Charlotte.

He looked at the name at the bottom of the article. John Ryder.

His frown deepened. The name was one of those he did not know well. Must have been a newbie, then.

He got up swiftly and went to Thomas Cleary, one of his good friends in the paper. From Thom he found out that John Ryder was yes, a newbie but no, it didn't look like he was in today.

"That's strange, too," Thom said mildly. "The kid's been looking forward for his big break in the paper. I thought he'd want to bask in it a little."

"How long's he been here?"

"Oh, about three months."

"And how come I've never heard of him?"

Thom shot him an amused look. "You may be sharp when it comes to news, but you don't notice your own paper. And you come in at noon every day. That kid comes in at eight."

That would explain it. "Thom, tell this Ryder I want to talk to him when he comes in, okay? Nothing threatening—just congratulations on his first article."

"You're uncommonly interested in this, Luke."

Luke shrugged, not knowing how to answer that without a lie. "I'm going to scout for news."

First he wandered around London Bridge, the place where the article said Charlotte was shot. Foremost on his mind was how the story had been leaked to the paper, and in his own paper, too.

He was nearly run over by a carriage as he reached the other side.

"Whoa!"

The carriage halted, its door opened. "Get in," a voice ordered.

Luke knew that voice. "Isn't this kidnapping?"

"Just do it, Luke."

"What got into you today, puppy Earl?" he asked as he climbed in. He was barely seated when the carriage lurched forward.

"You did that on purpose!"

"I did not," Ciel replied.

Luke scowled, thinking that it was really too bad that Ciel wasn't old enough to be a candidate for a duel. But then again...

"Did you read your paper's morning edition?" Ciel asked now, ever straight to the point.

"Yes. Was it true?"

Ciel nodded. "Who leaked it?"

Luke shook his head. "I don't know. The journalist's a new kid, John Ryder. He wasn't in at work today, but I've asked someone to set up a meeting." He hesitated. "Is Charlotte all right?"

"She's fine. Luckily she didn't damage any vital organs, she just needs rest."

Luke's blue eyes were penetrating. "No clues?"

"Nothing yet."

Luke wanted very much to ask—one of the habits of his job—but he knew that Ciel would not tell him anything until he was sure. The older man sighed. "I've got one for you, then."

"One what?"

"One clue. Or rather, one name. Adil Celik. He's the only one lover that Rebecca and Sarah have in common. A Turk, a rich merchant. At least to society." Luke waved his hands around. "I've tried digging around his history. He came here around ten years ago, started selling ceramics—"

"Ceramics?" Ciel interrupted. What a strange trade.

"I go through legal ways of getting information first, kid. Later I can dig deeper, but this is what's commonly known about him. He likes theatre. Maybe it's because most of his customers are either patrons or involved directly with theatre, it's good for his business."

Ciel pursed his lips. "And where is this Adil Celik?"

"I've no idea. I don't even know what he looks like. I was going to get his address—"

"No need," Ciel cut him off. "I'll get it."

Luke shot him a look full of doubt. Ciel smiled.

"About Alcott…"

Ciel was too silent for a moment. Then he said, "He wants to know who attacked Charlotte. I've a feeling he'll use his connections."

Luke scowled. The idea of Mafia around Ciel…and Alcott was offering to help? It complicated things…was it even possible that he was the one who—no, that wasn't possible, everyone knew that Alcott loved his wife, even Ciel knew it.

"Things are about to get a lot more complicated," Ciel echoed his thoughts.

"And what do you want me to do?" Luke answered.

"Only do your job. Meet with this Ryder. Act as a contact between Lottie and I—"

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because she's guarded around the clock and her husband is suspicious of me. I was the one who found her wounded—or at least that's what her husband knows. You, on the other hand, have some of Alcott's trust, since you worked for him before."

That made sense.

"Very well," he grouched, rubbing his head. "What are _you_ going to do?"

"Isn't that obvious? Look for clues, of course."

* * *

Before going home, Luke decided to drop by Landry's bar for a glass of brandy. He had a lot of things to think about and needed to stay awake.

"Good evenin', lad," the bulky man greeted Luke as he slammed a glass on the counter.

"Not so good, I'm afraid," the journalist replied, gulping the drink all at once. Landry refilled his glass immediately.

"I read your newspaper this morning. Is it true? That the Countess was shot?"

Luke looked up at the man, inquisitively. "It appears to be so."

"Poor lass. And she was so bright and happy when she left my bar…" Landry shook his head sorrowfully.

Luke frowned, "The Countess was here?"

"Aye, she was. And she wasn't alone." Landry smirked suggestively. Luke waited. "She was here with quite the fine gentleman, quite fine, yet quite scary."

"Did you know him?"

"Nay. I showed them to that there table at the back," Landry pointed over Luke's shoulder. The blond man turned around to take a look at the isolated table. "She, the Countess I mean, even asked my ol' wife to let her, the Countess, I mean, cook."

The newshound was getting more confused by the minute. "She cooked for that man? Are you sure it wasn't her husband?"

Landry pondered his answer for a while, "Well, unless he had his hair cut, it couldn't have been the Earl. I never saw him in person but his long hair is something he's known for."

Luke tried to gather his thoughts. Yesterday, on Saturday, just one day after the fifth murder, Charlotte was shot, but not killed. Exactly what he had been talking about with Ciel.

And then there was this man who she had had a meal with, who she had cooked for. But just as he was wondering who this man could be, Luke remembered that he had looked for Charlotte that day and didn't manage to find her. That was why he went to the Phantomhive manor where Ciel told him that…

That Charlotte was with his butler.

"Do you remember what the time when they came was?" the newshound suddenly asked.

Landry halted his glass wiping to think of an accurate answer. "I ain't so sure but it must have been between 5 and 7 in the afternoon. The sun had already set when they arrived."

Luke blinked, putting his thoughts in order. "Thank you, Landry," he blurted out, paying for his drinks and stood up to leave. He stopped mid-step, though, and spun around to ask one more question, "Did you notice anything or anyone strange when they left?"

Landry's scrunched up nose made for a very funny thoughtful expression. "Wife! Get outta here right now!" he hollered. The woman hurriedly came from the kitchen, holding a broom.

"What d'ye want?" she spat, obviously bothered by her husband's loud yell.

"D'ye remember yesterday when the Countess came here with a handsome lad?"

The woman's countenance suddenly turned dreamy. "Aye, 'course I remember."

"Then d'ye remember anything or anyone strange when they left?" Landry rephrased Luke's question.

The woman blinked, "I ain't sure. Strange happening happen everyday here. There was this kid, though…"

"A kid? Did you know him? What did he look like?" Luke inquired urgently.

"A kid…Too young to be a man but too old to be a boy. I remember 'cause he was the only one who sat by himself at one o' the tables."

"Thank you," Luke said again and took off. He was heading for the Phantomhive manor.

* * *

The thought of being stuck in bed for a month didn't sit well with Charlotte. How could she just lie down the whole day, without doing anything at all? What about the theater? What would happen to the plays if the main character wasn't there? Besides, after doing nothing for a month, it would take time to get back on track and prepare a new play.

She sighed, looking at the ceiling. Her room was quiet, too quiet. And she felt lonely, to the point where she was focused on listening to her own breathing pattern. Therefore, she was really happy to hear a knock on the door.

"Come in!" she said with a smile.

The door opened slowly, revealing Alcott's concerned figure. "Do I disturb?" he cautiously asked.

Charlotte shook her head. "Not at all. I feel like I am dying of boredom."

He helped her sit up and lean back against a pillow. He sat next to her and tenderly took her hand. His gaze was fixed on her fingers, as if he was afraid to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry, Charlotte. I'm so deeply sorry," he murmured, aggrieved.

She looked at him comfortingly but had no idea what to say. Guilt picked at the corners of her heart as she witnessed how much pain she had caused to him. However, she had no means to ease it.

"Alcott…," she whispered softly, curling her fingers around his. He placed a loving kiss on the back of her hand and held it close to his heart.

"Will you ever forgive me, love?" He stared profoundly in her red orbs, begging for her forgiveness, although she didn't quite know what she should forgive him for.

"Oh, Alcott, please…" She brought her other hand to his cheek and caressed it gently.

"I failed to protect you…My darling Charlotte!" He knelt on the floor and lay his head down on her lap. "I'm unworthy of being your husband. I vowed to keep you safe and yet you almost…almost…" He was choking because of the tears rushing to his eyes.

"Oh, Alcott, don't be ridiculous, it's not your fault. And I'm alive!" She cupped his face and made him look at her, "See? I'm right here, still in flesh and bones."

Her charming smile gave him renewed strength. He rose to his feet and sat down on her bed again. Suddenly enlivened, he pulled her in a hug but let her go when he heard her wince.

"I apologize, I was too careless. Did I hurt you?" He looked her up and down to make sure she was all right.

"Don't worry," she reassured him with yet another beautiful smile.

Alcott smiled too and ran a hand through her hair. He grabbed one of her curls, twisting it around his finger. His eyes fell on the bare skin of her neck and couldn't abstain from leaving a love bite on it.

"Ah, what are you doing!" she cried out, startled.

Alcott grinned as he kissed that spot again then bit on her earlobe.

"Your mood has greatly improved, I see," she playfully teased him.

He was still grinning as he brushed a lock of her hair to the side. He finished up his small attentions with a few chaste kisses on her forehead, her lips and the tip of her nose.

"The theater will be missing you for a while," he stated out of the blue, still playing with her hair. "What if…we let it wait a bit longer?" His voice gradually turned into a suggestive whisper.

Charlotte was oblivious to it, however. "What do you mean?"

Alcott cleared his throat, "I mean…that if it survives this coming month, I'm thinking of…giving you a longer break."

"Alcott, I don't need a longer break," she protested, "I love the theater. I want to return as soon as possible. Merely _thinking_ of being away from it for so long makes me hurt inside."

He sighed displeased, "I know how much you love performing, but I was hoping that I had a bit of that love as well. Don't you love me too, Charlotte?"

She stared at him agape. Could she tell him no? That was way out of the question. But, on the other hand, how could she say yes, when her heart tightened in disagreement? At a loss for words, she pursed her lips and clutched her gown. Two contradicting feelings were tugging at her insides, tearing them up.

"Alcott, you know I—" she managed to utter in the end but was soon interrupted by her husband.

"I'm sorry, I was being foolish," he said, noticing her troubled mien. "I tend to forget how we came to be. Why I don't deserve your affection. It might be in the past but even after all these years, I shouldn't forget how I stole you away from your family and friends and put you through so many hardships because of my selfishness."

His hand slipped from her shoulder down her arm. He kissed the back of her hand again and smiled, "After such a ruthless deed, daring to even consider such a thing… is unforgivable. It's just that…I didn't want the Aethelburg blood to end here."

"What are you talking about, Alcott?" Charlotte inquired, confused. Was he thinking what she thought he was thinking?

He chuckled, "A child. I was talking about a child which would be my heir. Preferably a boy so that he could inherit my title as well." Seeing her stunned expression, he added, "But it was just a silly product of my imagination, something you shouldn't be bothered with. Just focus on your recovery. I'll make sure to have an outstanding piece prepared for your comeback on stage. Good night, my love."

He kissed her forehead and stood up. Charlotte was still staring at the door even after it closed. For all those years spent with him, it had never even occurred to her, not the slightest bit, that they were actually…a family. That she had yet to fulfill her role as his wife.

Of all times, he had to mention it then, when she couldn't do anything else other than think. She was thus bound to torment herself thinking about how tangled the web of her life was.

* * *

_Here I am again! With an even more exciting act. I'm sorry it took so long to update, I was out of town last week and, besides, the writing has been pretty slow recently...I don't want to run out of chapters and make you wait even longer. The next update will be in 2013 :) I hope you will support us next year as well!_

_Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! Have fun with your families and friends, make sure you buy them presents and please review! Honestly, reviews are probably the best presents I could ever receive! Thank you! Happy Holidays! _


	15. III Scene 2

Scene 2

* * *

Luke arrived at the Phantomhive manor late, however, Ciel was just having his dinner. Meyrin led him in and announced his presence.

"Luke, what a surprise," Ciel stated as he saw the man approach him.

Luke had a look of utmost perplexity in his eyes. Even as he took off his hat to greet the young Earl, he still appeared to have no idea what he was doing or where he was. He ran a hand through his already messed hair and came to halt when he neared the long dining table.

"Luke, is something wrong? Did you find out anything?" Ciel asked, taken aback by the newshound's odd behavior. "Take a seat."

Sebastian made a step to come pull the chair for him but the reporter held up his hand. "It's all right, I can manage." He plopped down with a loud sigh, his blue eyes wandering across the table up to the butler's face.

He looked indeed like a fine gentleman and Luke could also see that scary tint in his polite smile.

"Luke, what's the matter?" Ciel insisted, noticing his guest's exhausted figure. "It appears that you have worked hard today. Do you have something to tell me?"

"I'll bring another plate," Sebastian kindly offered.

"No need," Luke abruptly cut him off.

Watching the well-dressed butler, he attempted to visualize the young lady by his side. He pictured them with linked arms and he even added a bright smile to Charlotte's face, which was looking up at the much taller man.

The journalist shook his head, thinking it was just his imagination. It had to be. Charlotte might have left with Sebastian in the morning but she couldn't have spent her whole day with Ciel's butler. She was a married woman, a Countess even!

Besides, if her husband had found out, he wouldn't have let that butler live for much longer. There was no way they could have kept their relationship hidden. They had gone out together in a public place, where a lot of thugs gathered. It was just a matter of time before Alcott would have got wind of it. It was impossible. Impossible.

Still, the question was burning at the tip of his tongue. Locking gazes with the puppy Earl, he finally mustered up the courage to ask, "Is _Countess_ Aethelburg having an affair with your butler?"

The puppy Earl's reaction clearly told Luke that Ciel was taken aback. "What?"

Ah, youth, thought Luke dryly. "You heard me. I asked if there's something between the lady and your butler."

Another pause. "None that I know of. It's not possible anyway."

"Whyever not?"

"Because she's married."

"That doesn't stop a lot of people."

"Are you saying that Charlotte is promiscuous? Or that my butler is?"

Luke turned bright red. "Of course not," he mumbled. "It's just that they were together when she was shot. They left Landry's at seven. She was shot at around midnight. What were they doing for five hours?"

Ciel was still unimpressed. "Luke, your journalist mind's blowing this whole thing out of proportion."

Of course there was another reason it was not possible. Ciel believed that Sebastian was incapable of showing interest for other people. Not in the way Luke hinted, anyway.

"Very well, I am going," Luke said, "Listen, pup, if I thought that, there'll be people who will think of it that way, too, if they found out. You might not care about rumors but I assure you that Charlotte's husband will. He guards her well."

The young Earl only nodded. Luke left, but not without giving Ciel food for the thought. He had always thought that Alcott's jealousy towards Sebastian was baseless.

But it looked like there was more to it than he had expected.

Good news awaited Luke when he got back to the office: John Ryder was in. Luke's usual circle of friends was there as well: Jim, Alex and Thom.

"Oh, Luke, this is Johnny," Thom called, waving him over. "The one you wanted to meet?"

Luke brightened. Finally he was on to something—after giving Celik's name to Ciel, he'd been at loose ends. "Oh?" He came closer.

John Ryder was shorter than Luke, and obviously young. His hair and eyes were the same shade of mousy brown. He looked even sleepier than Luke. "Hello, Mr. Linnett."

"Luke will do. You did a good job with that article."

Johnny flushed. "Thanks."

"How did you do it?"

"I…was just passing. I live near the LondonBridge," Johnny explained.

Luke narrowed his eyes. There was something in that pause that was immediately suspicious. "I see. You look tired—what do you say to a drink?"

"I would," Jim volunteered.

Luke glared at him. "I don't treat old-timers."

"Cheapskate," Alex muttered.

"Economical," Luke said, grinning despite himself.

But Thom, who knew Luke well, shook his head. "Let's not join them. Luke won't give us anything but bread and water."

Jim and Alex immediately withdrew in disgust. Luke chuckled. Only when the two reporters were not watching them, did Luke flash Thom a look of gratitude for the brief conspiracy. Thom knew well that Luke wanted to talk to Ryder alone, on some serious matter.

Luke took Ryder to Landry's. There was something about Ryder that told Luke that he was a drinker.

Luke was right. After half a dozen mugs of beer, Ryder's tongue had loosened enough for him to be a source of information.

"Yeah, I was following th' Countess from this bar," Ryder prattled happily. "I saw her wit' a handsome fellow, and I thought he fancied her."

"Were you drunk by then?" Luke asked quietly. He hadn't even finished his first mug, and this brat ten years younger than him was already smashed.

"No, no, I had a smoke before I came here."

"Cigar?"

"Opium," revealed Ryder. "I got it from Adil."

Luke froze. "What did you say?"

Ryder was too busy telling Luke of following Charlotte. "Then they went out of th' bar and wandered around London for a while. Cold, it was, and they not seeming to notice! They jus' talked, until they came to the bridge and th' countess got shot."

Luke was silent, trying to sift through all he heard. "And what did the Countess' companion do after she got shot?"

"He done fished her out of the water," Ryder said. "Then he took her away. Real quick about it, too. Dis'peared like some kind o' ghost."

"You didn't publish the article about the Countess having a male companion?"

Ryder shuddered. "Adil, that dealer, told me that Earl got some connections. That he'll get back at me if I did that."

Yes, the Earl Aethelburg certainly would. Luke turned to Ryder again. "What about that opium?"

There was an answering clatter, and then Ryder toppled onto the table, dead drunk. There would be no more answers tonight.

Luke sighed and called Landry over. The barman assured Luke that Ryder would be safe enough there.

"I have to go," Luke added, shouldering his coat.

Landry grunted. "'Course you do."

Luke smiled at him, amused. He nodded to Landry's wife in farewell, then stepped out into the night.

He didn't really learn anything new, except for the fact that Ryder was an opium addict who took his supply from Celik. If Celik was a dealer, where did he get _his_ supply from?

Luke had only gone a few yards from the bar when a voice called out to him from the darkness. "Mr. Linnett?"

Luke whirled, his gun ready. Sebastian Michaelis was behind him, looking unperturbed.

"You're…," Luke whispered.

"Sebastian Michaelis, Earl Phantomhive's butler." His red eyes glimmered. "I saw you talking to Ryder."

"I did. Did the puppy send you?"

"If you mean the Earl, yes, he did."

There was something about this butler that made the hairs on the back of Luke's neck stand up. "And?" Luke prodded. "What does he want to tell me?"

"That he wanted to know anything you found out."

Luke had doubts about reporting to this butler. He valued his instincts, it had kept him alive more times than he cared to think. His instincts told him now that this was a very dangerous man. Still, it looked like there was nothing that would stop the butler from wresting information from him.

"Nothing new. He's drunk now. I don't think he saw who shot Charlotte or he would've reported that too. Ryder's an opium addict. He gets his supply from Adil Celik. Celik seems to know about Alcott, as well."

"He should. Alcott supplies Celik's opium."

Luke's eyes widened. "Does Alcott know how Celik deals his opium?"

"No. It would be extremely unwise for Alcott to associate too deeply with a shady character like Celik."

Luke wanted very much to ask how Sebastian found Celik, but decided that he wouldn't get a decent answer. "Celik is innocent of the murders?"

"Yes, and of Charlotte's shooting."

Luke noted the casual use of Charlotte's name. No titles.

"A third party?"

Sebastian nodded. "Perhaps, but whoever it is, they're clever. They've left practically no tracks that we can trace."

Luke nodded thoughtfully. The details were becoming much clearer now. Opium was the link, clearly. And Adil Celik. Those actors and actresses…

They had to look at it from another angle. Who else could want them dead?

Who else would target Charlotte?

"Mr. Linnett."

Luke raised his head. "Yes?"

"You would tell Charlotte of this?"

Again, no titles. Luke was beginning to get truly suspicious. But hell would freeze over before he asked this mysterious butler about his relationship with Charlotte. He was one creepy fellow. "Yes, I would."

"How? She is guarded."

Luke smiled briefly. "I've got a few ideas."

Layla picked up the newly arrived evening paper and put it on the tray with Charlotte's dinner. Alcott had informed the maid that he would be late. It wasn't something out of the ordinary. He was usually late because of work. But for the past few days, there was clearly something else bothering him.

Layla didn't make much of it, though. She could understand where her master's troubles were stemming from. Having his beloved wife almost killed, it not only affected him personally, but also professionally. The actors' morale was low, the shows weren't as exciting as before and there was an obvious decline in the number of tickets sold as a result.

Dismissing such thoughts quickly, for her master's business wasn't a matter she should concern herself with, Layla efficiently made her way to Charlotte's chamber but found her mistress sleeping soundly.

It appeared that Charlotte had been reading, as the maid could tell from the open book lying face downwards on the young lady's bosom, while her delicate, white fingers were still holding the worn covers. Layla smiled with fondness at Charlotte's serene countenance as she stretched out to take the book. But, all of a sudden, the girl's hand tightly grabbed Layla's wrist, causing the maid to shriek in shock.

Charlotte had immediately opened her eyes upon sensing that someone had approached her. Driven by instinct, her hand shot up before she could recognize the person hovering above her.

"Mi—milday…"

"Oh, Layla. It's you." Charlotte slowly let go of the frightened maid and sat up properly. "I apologize. I couldn't tell it was you. I was afraid that it might be someone dangerous. I have reacted unreasonably, please forgive me." She smiled up at the still surprised maid, hoping that it would console her a bit.

"By God, milady! You have startled me beyond belief." Layla shook her head as she was setting up the meal for her mistress.

Charlotte kept smiling apologetically, "I have quick reflexes, you see. One has to, when one knows that they might fall off the tightrope any minute."

Layla glanced curiously at the young lady. Her words seemed cryptic. Aside from that, Layla knew that she hadn't been scared by the Countess' hand. As the efficient maid she was, she wouldn't have been fazed by the actions of her sleeping lady. It was something else that had terrified her for the split second.

Charlotte's bright red orbs. She had opened her eyes in an instant and it was that unnerving look that they gave off what horrified the maid.

Pursing her lips, Layla put the incident behind herself as she focused on assisting the lady with her dinner. She was disconcertedly looking at her, worried about Charlotte's mental well-being. For someone as active and restless as her to be told to stay put in bed for a month, Layla was aware that it might have eventually taken its toll on the poor young girl.

Attempting to brighten the mood, Layla brought up a new topic of conversation. "Have you made a subscription to the newspaper, milady?"

Charlotte blinked confused. "Subscription?" She frowned. "What paper?"

Layla briefly checked the title before handing the newspaper to Charlotte, "St. James'. The evening edition."

"St. James'?" The name sounded familiar. She would have wanted to say that there was no way for her to subscribe to a paper from her bed but she refrained from it. And as she skimmed the pages, she was glad she did.

"Oh, now I remember." She feigned ignorance. "I know a journalist who works for this paper. I asked for it this past Friday, I wonder what took him so long. It's already Tuesday."

"Since when is milady interested in reading the paper?"

Charlotte glanced at her maid over the letter clipped to the top of the page. Was Layla suspicious? "Oh, their gossip column is really good. I thought I'd stay informed. You know, because of all these murders…"

Layla was still skeptical about her lady's sudden wish to read the paper but kept quiet about it. She also had her doubts because the paper was sent in the evening. It was common sense that people read the newspaper in the morning.

But, as if she had read the maid's mind, Charlotte added, "How thoughtful of him to send the evening edition. He must have thought that I do not awake early in the morning, after reading about my being shot…that is probably also why this came so late…," she was murmuring as she pretended to be engulfed in the news.

In the end, she put the paper aside with a sigh and returned her attention to the dinner that Layla had so thoughtfully prepared. "Where is Alcott?" Charlotte asked out of the blue.

"He has announced that he will be late," Layla answered mechanically.

"Oh, is that so? It's been a while since we've had a meal together…," Charlotte noted with nostalgy.

"Also, a letter from the theater came today, along with a big bouquet of lilies. I will bring them immediately."

Layla left with the empty tray and returned shortly afterwards carrying a letter and accompanied by Henry, who brought the lilies in. Charlotte smiled, deeply touched. She was happy to see how much her companions cared about her.

"I will take the lilies away for the night," Layla stated and instructed Henry to take the flowers to the main hall.

Charlotte would have wanted to tell her maid to leave them a bit longer but she had a letter to read. Actually, two, but there was one of utmost importance. "Thank you, Layla. Good night. I will go to sleep as soon as I finish reading this letter so you can withdraw to your chamber now."

Layla bowed her head. "Good night, milady."

As soon as the door clicked closed, Charlotte picked up the newspaper and took out the letter. The envelope was plain white, with no address or name on it. It was clipped on the page on which Luke Linnett's article was written.

The letter contained information about the progress of the investigation. About John Ryder, the young lad at the bar who had followed her and Sebastian to the LondonBridge and consequently reported about her being shot.

Charlotte was momentarily alarmed. What if that boy told anyone about her and Sebastian? If news about an affair with the Phantomhive butler got to Alcott's ears, there would be trouble.

The letter also told of how Ryder was an opium addict who got his supply from a man called Adil Celik, who, in turn, got his supply from Alcott. At this point, Charlotte gasped, suddenly very concerned. Moreover, it said that Celik was the lover that the two murdered actresses had had in common, Harold Crewe's supplier and Julian Kane's friend.

It made Alcott too deeply involved with this. Charlotte bit her lips nervously, struggling to hold back her tears. She felt desperate and useless, frustrated that there was nothing she could do. Her belief that Alcott was guilty had started to fade after she got shot. She knew that he would never hurt her. Besides, if he had seen her with Sebastian that night, he would have made a big deal out of it.

No, Alcott wasn't guilty. Not of the murders, at least. But all this evidence was pointing at him.

She read the letter again and again. She only noticed the missing name as she read it a fourth time. James Johnson, the comedy actor renowned for his satirical impersonations. A ray of hope broke through the darkness that had clouded her already tired mien.

However, her hope wilted away as soon as it bloomed. She remembered that Johnson had changed theaters often and that Adil Celik was a theater patron. His official business was related to ceramics and she had a faint memory of a conversation she had overheard between two ladies, both art patrons. James Johnson's name had been mentioned, together with something along the lines of '…incredible collection of Oriental vases'.

Charlotte let out a heavy breath, admitting defeat. They were all linked one way or another and Alcott was the master spider of the web. She crumpled the letter and threw it angrily as far as she could. She soon realized that she had done a mistake.

Carefully climbing out of bed, she picked up the letter and burned it together with its envelope. In an attempt to lift her own spirits, Charlotte moved on to the second letter, the one with well-wishes from her comrades.

But there was something unusual about that one, too. It seemed that there were two letters in the same envelope. Thinking that it was just a long missive, Charlotte took them both out to check which one was the beginning. Randomly picking one of the two, she couldn't contain her joy upon laying eyes on the closing formula: y_ours forever faithful, Sebastian Michaelis._

She finally released her tears—tears of joy—covering her mouth with her hand and shielding the precious, fragile paper by pressing it gingerly to her bosom.

_Milady,_

_I write to you out of great worry and concern. I have been thinking of you ever since that disastrous night and I have finally found the opportunity to address you about it._

_I must first extend my deepest apologies. That such a thing would happen while you were under my care and protection is absolutely unforgivable. I am incredibly sorry, milady. I have utterly failed you._

_I hope you are in good health. I was told that it would take a month until you are completely recovered. I am overjoyed to know that you are out of danger's way. I am assuming that your husband has already begun investigating the matter, that is good, I have faith that he will protect you well. Better than I have, at least._

_At the same time, I, too, will be working hard towards finding the culprit. If only I could punish him myself. But I am certain that the Young Master will deal with it properly._

_Therefore, please rest assured, my lady. I am safe, unfortunately, and I am looking forward to the day when we can meet again so that I will be able to apologize to you directly._

_Have no worries for this humble servant. I am but one hell of a butler and yours forever faithful,_

_Sebastian Michaelis._


	16. III Scene 3

Scene 3

* * *

Alcott made some time in his busy schedule to drop by his manor around lunchtime, in order to have a meal with his ailing wife. He had been pleased to hear Layla mention it in the morning, that the lady was missing her husband.

"What should I do about the meeting with Celik?" Eglantine asked her master.

Alcott frowned, toying with one of his massive rings. "You could go by yourself." He smiled. "I'm sure he will enjoy it."

The maid bowed, "Very well." She gave Alcott his hat and helped him with his coat. "The carriage will be here shortly. I will wait with you outside."

They were at the theater, in Alcott's office. He had been checking the revenue and making plans for the upcoming season of holidays. It was the first time he began to feel Charlotte's absence. She would probably be well before Easter but he was reluctant about her availability for a play.

He found it such a shame, truthfully. He had made romantic plans for the two of them, booking a voyage across the ocean on a luxury ship. Now it was all ruined. And although he knew it wasn't Charlotte's fault, he still felt somehow upset with her. Maybe because of her involvement with the Phantomhives…

Alcott put an end to his disturbing thoughts as the carriage arrived. Eglantine opened the door for him and bowed before he departed. However, as he sat alone in the carriage, he couldn't help but think again of Charlotte and Ciel.

He'd found his story about how he happened to come across Charlotte on the LondonBridge suspicious from the very beginning. Alcott was no stupid man. And he'd sniffed out his wife's connection to that odious butler long before. Besides, there also was that article. About Charlotte, which said that she was shot at around midnight.

Thinking better about it, there would have been no reason for either Ciel or Charlotte to wander about the London Bridge at that tardy hour. Ciel might have an excuse, as the Queen's Watchdog. But what about Charlotte? According to Layla, she'd left the manor early in the morning that day.

What had she been doing until then? Why hadn't she returned home before sunset, as she normally would?

"Tsk." Clicking his tongue, he hit the roof of the carriage with his cane and called out to Henry, "Change of plans. We're going to the Phantomhive manor. Please go back to Eglantine and tell her to replace you." The carriage stopped and Henry came down. "Here." His master handed him some money. "Take the cab back home."

* * *

Finnian watched the sky.

He sometimes thought that he lived for moments like this. Technically, he was supposed to be clipping the grass in the yard, but Sebastian had given him one of his best (translation: scariest) smiles and said that he could rest.

And so rest Finnian did, though he would have wanted to help. There was really nothing that he would not have done for the Young Master, and he knew that Meyrin and Bard felt the same.

A sudden crunch of wheels on the stone pathway interrupted his thoughts, and Finnian looked down, startled. There was a carriage coming down the path…were they supposed to have visitors today? What was more, the coach…man was a woman, an auburn-haired beauty with an eye patch. For a moment he could do nothing but stare. Who were they?

The carriage was coming closer and closer, and yet Finnian had not moved. Perhaps they did have visitors today...and he hadn't known?

Then the carriage passed the place where he was standing, and Finnian saw the lone passenger. He turned and sprinted back to the house as fast as he could…for the passenger was the Earl Alcott Aetheburg, who had raised a ruckus in the manor before.

* * *

Thanks to Finnian's fast notice, the household was ready to welcome the Earl as he entered the manor.

"Good morning, Earl Aethelburg. What brings you to my home?"

Alcott simply stared at the younger Earl for a moment. "The person I wish to speak to is not you, but your butler. The one called Sebastian Michaelis."

Ciel raised his brows. "Really? And what do you want of him?"

The said butler was standing inches behind his Young Master, looking unruffled by the conversation. "May I suggest taking this to the receiving room? I shall serve tea."

"I don't plan on staying," Alcott said shortly.

Ciel smiled. "Don't be petulant, Earl Aethelburg. You're being quite rude, dropping by unannounced. Must you be ruder still and refuse my welcome?"

Alcott narrowed his eyes, sensing a trap. Nonetheless, he also knew that there was nothing that Ciel could do to him—if he did not walk out of here unharmed, Eglantine would raze the household…this young Earl and his precious butler included.

So Alcott removed his coat, hat and cane, giving the items to the butler. Sebastian bowed low, as was proper, and led them to the receiving room.

* * *

When they were comfortably seated (physically at least), and had a cup of tea in front of them, Alcott resumed his conversation without preamble.

"Your butler, how did he come by my wife that night?"

"He was on an errand for me," Ciel lied swiftly. "We were together when we saw Charlotte. Did I not tell you?"

"What errand?" Alcott inquired.

"I don't think it's any of your business, sadly."

"Oh, but I do," Alcott countered, his eyes flashing. "Your butler just happened to rescue my wife. I would like to know, for example, what she was doing there in the first place. Why was she out at night, without at least Layla with her?"

"Why don't you ask Lottie that?" Ciel said slyly.

Alcott scowled, foiled. It was obvious that he had not asked her. Ciel's face did not change, but he was repressing a smile.

"Let us be frank," Alcott said, regaining his composure after a pause. "I know that you're the Queen's watchdog, Ciel _Phantomhive_."

Ciel stopped, his cup of tea halfway to his lips.

"I know that you have been sent to investigate me."

Ciel slowly lowered his cup. "And what makes you think that?"

For a moment Ciel thought that Alcott had discovered Lottie's role—if so, it would mean a blow to the theater murders. But, how could he have known _that_ if he hadn't interrogated Lottie about it? A traitor? Who was it?

"You've been talking to Luke Linnett about me."

Luke. Luke, that journalist. Ciel had nearly forgotten all about him…of course. Luke had been previously employed by Alcott, so…

But the question remains…how did Alcott know?

Did Luke tell him?

Ciel glanced at his butler, and Sebastian nodded. The butler would investigate Luke.

"I can't believe that you would stoop to gossip, Earl Aethelburg." Ciel said. "Isn't he a journalist?"

"Ah, but you see, Linnett has been around for almost ten years," Alcott said. "He knows things, and for a fair amount can pass you information that is valuable. I would admit to using him once, so I've been keeping tabs on him, so to speak. Thus far he has been loyal—that is, he has not interfered with my way—but this time his side business might hurt mine. Do you understand that, Earl Phantomhive?"

"If the situation arose, Earl Aethelburg," replied Ciel, "I would remember."

Alcott nodded curtly. Then he rose and looked at Sebastian in the eye.

"Sebastian Michaelis, a last warning to you. Your Master will not be enough to protect you if you even touch my Charlotte. I swear by my dead sister, I will kill you if you touch her, even if I die soon myself."

Sebastian did not speak. He only nodded gravely, and bowed.

"Another thing."

Ciel and Sebastian both turned to look at him expectantly.

"Charlotte is my wife, as I've said before. I believe it would also be high time for us to start producing my heirs."

There was absolutely no reaction from the two.

Alcott shook his head slightly, dissatisfied. "Good day, then."

With that, Alcott Aethelburg swept out, grabbing his coat, hat and cane himself. Ciel stayed in his seat, watching him go, letting him leave as suddenly as he had come. Sebastian likewise watched the older Earl's progress.

None of them knew that this would be the last visit that Alcott would ever make.

To anyone.

* * *

Two men also watched the Earl Alcott Aethelburg leave the Phantomhive estate. Their vatage point was a carriage.

"He definitely looks suspicious," announced the first man. "And he's Ciel's only suspect for the murders, isn't he?"

The other man, the coachman, did not reply.

"The evidence around him is piling up," continued the first man. "We should make a move…before he murders anyone else, don't you think?"

"Nothing is certain," the other man finally said.

"Don't be such a spoil-sport," said the first man. "Even if he's not behind the murders—" and here the first man smiled mockingly— "he's still a criminal. So it doesn't matter if it's the wrong trail, the dog will lead us to him all the same. Don't you think so…Adil Celik?"

* * *

Ciel realized the full folly of hiring someone like Luke Linnett when Alcott had pointed it out. Innocent or not, Luke had been a clue for Alcott to realize that he was being watched. Fortunately, Alcott didn't seem aware that he had been linked to the theater murders…nor did he seem to feel threatened by it. If he were, Luke's body would have been found in a ditch by now.

Didn't that argue for him being innocent?

Ciel tried to put things into perspective. What did they really know about the murders? They were treading so carefully around each other, that Ciel never had time to establish Alcott's true position in the murders. Part of the reason was because the circumstantial evidence around Alcott was strong…but there was no one who could say whether he was involved in the murders or not.

Except…

Except…

"Sebastian."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Investigate the merchant known as Adil Celik. He's our clearest link to the murders."

Sebastian bowed. "Yes, my Lord."

* * *

Luke shuffled the papers on his desk for the ninth time. He usually wasn't this obsessive about the clutter on his desk—he didn't let it build up to this amount—but he started feeling that he was missing something.

Something.

Something.

But he would be damned if he knew what exactly that was. Was it an article due the next day? An errand for one of the newspaper editors? Somebody's birthday? Damn, he hated not knowing.

Luke ruffled his short blond hair. If he kept this up, he would be bald from worrying before he hit his forties.

He stood up and walked to his filing cabinet. There were the papers of every side business he had done. He had documents for each one, usually notes on people he had met and investigated, or even gave information on. It was an uncommonly detailed mix of nobles, merchants, and hoodlums.

He sidled over to the A's and plucked out the file for Alcott Aethelburg. It was one of the thicker files, not in the least because of the recent job with Lottie and the puppy Earl. He placed a few new notes into the file.

Luke was not worried about the file, per se. He had a code for it, so that none but him could understand what the file was all about.

The A's…

Now he remembered what he had forgotten. Adil Celik. That Turkish porcelain merchant. By this time, Luke should have heard of him, but no one he had asked had known him. Oh, people were aware that he was a porcelain merchant, and that he was rich, and also he was a theater patron…however, no one knew where he lived or how he even looked.

Celik came into the country around two years ago, and set up a lucrative trade in London. His clientele were mostly theater patrons—of course—but there was one source that had said something curious.

_"It's said that he has close contact with the Queen herself! How's that for a business contact, eh, Luke? You can beat out anyone if the Queen was your customer!" _

A merchant to the queen and a drug dealer…perhaps he should tell Ciel.

Well, it wasn't as if he was the Scotland Yard. He had nothing to do with Adil Celik, outside the fact that he seemed to be the suspect, rather than Alcott.

Luke didn't want any trouble, that was for certain. That was also why he had survived this long.

It was three in the morning when he decided to go home. As usual, he was alone in the St. James' by this time. He removed his pistol from his jacket pocket, and carefully checked that there were bullets in it. After all, one could never be too sure.

He preferred to walk to his lodgings. It wasn't a long walk, and he usually got a chance to meet up with some very interesting people.

Tonight, however, the respectable London citizens seemed to be all asleep. He arrived at his lodgings without any difficulty.

Beside his lodgings was a small porcelain shop. The display wasn't anything magnificent, though, so he never considered connecting it to Adil Celik. However…

However, who the hell changes his display case at three in the morning?!

Luke entered the shop and stopped a rather large vase from toppling onto the owner's head. He grunted as he took on the weight, and the owner jumped in surprise.

"Mr… !"

"Good morning to you too," said Luke, lowering the vase to the floor. "Mrs. Harrowby, don't you think this isn't the best time?"

She blushed. "I know, but Mr. Celik wanted to make a delivery this morning!"

"Celik? Celik? Did you mean Adil Celik?" Luke repeated dumbly.

"Why yes! You know him?"

"Not really."

"Look, there he is now!"

And as the old woman pointed across the street to where a tall man was entering the carriage, as Luke turned to look at the man who he had been investigating, Luke's world turned upside down.

"What the…" he whispered.

Mrs. Harrowby giggled. "He's a handsome one, although he's certainly odd to choose these hours to deliver his wares. I heard he doesn't like to be seen in public."

The man that Mrs. Harrowby knew as Adil Celik climbed into his carriage and vanished into the night. Luke knew that man, although no commoner might have. It was impossible that Alcott did, for if he had, he would have known how long the Queen had been watching him waiting for him to fall into her trap.

Adil Celik did not exist. No one had ever seen him, except for the murdered theater stars. His identity was a cover…because he was Charles Phipps.

Charles Phipps, part of the Queen's Double Charles, and one of Her Majesty's personal butlers.

* * *

Charlotte woke in the middle of the night to soft caresses, slow strokes to her hair.

"S…"

No.

It wasn't Sebastian. For a second, she could not move nor speak in her disappointment.

It was Alcott, her husband.

"Alcott?" she whispered instead. "Alcott, what is it?"

Alcott continued to stroke her hair, but his eyes were burning with a strange fire.

"Al—"

The rest of the word was smothered by his lips crashing onto her own. Charlotte struggled, stunned by the intensity of the kiss. Even in their nights of lovemaking, Alcott had never been like this.

He kept it up for a few minutes, then he let her gasp for air. He trailed kisses down her collarbone, her jaw, her shoulder. Her breathing hitched.

It took her a moment to realize that Alcott was shirtless.

"Alcott, what's the matter?" she whispered. It was dark in her room. "What is it?"

"Charlotte, do you love me?"

That question again. Charlotte couldn't help wondering whether something bad had happened to her husband. "Did you wake me up in the middle of the night to ask me that?" Her tone was more reproachful than she had intended it.

He kissed her neck, biting down on her flesh. Charlotte winced because of the pain. "Alcott, it hurts!" she cried, pushing him away. She felt a sudden pang in her right breast and grimaced.

"Do you love me, Charlotte?" Alcott took her hands, making her look at him. But the unnecessary pain had quite ruined Charlotte's spirits.

"Do _you_ love _me_?" she hissed, still feeling her muscles pulsate with pain.

"Only God knows how much because, clearly, you are too ignorant." He was downright glaring at her.

But Charlotte wouldn't let him insult her when she had done nothing wrong. "Do you usually hurt the people you love?"

His eyes widened upon her remark.

"Only Gods knows that I am in pain right now because, clearly, you are too ignorant," she retorted, snatching her hands away from his grasp. "If that was all you disturbed me for, I shall ask you to leave. I'd rather sleep than listen to you speak gibberish."

Alcott ran a hand through his hair, laughing. "Ignorant you are indeed. Not the slightest bit impressed by your husband's half naked figure." He suddenly glared at her, more frightening than before. Charlotte shuddered. "Did that butler have a more fine body?"

She stared at him astounded. "What in the world—"

"Stop lying to me, Charlotte!" he thundered, standing up. "I have had enough of your deceiving me."

"What are you talking about, Alcott?" she muttered, bewildered.

He was breathing heavily. "I can't take it anymore, Charlotte, I really can't. I _love_ you and I was happy believing that you did, too, but I am apparently very terribly mistaken." He made a pause, gulping. "What were you doing that late at night on the London Bridge?"

Charlotte made no response. The London Bridge was at least half an hour of walking away from her home, there was therefore no reason for her to be out there at such a tardy hour. She should have thought of an excuse beforehand, and she had tried, but nothing had come to her.

"With that butler, nonetheless," Alcott added. "I detest thinking that you have been disloyal to me."

She looked up at him. "Then don't."

He sat back down, locking gazes with her. "I _am_ trying not to, but you will do nothing to help me."

"What do you want me to do, Alcott?" She hoped that none of her inner exasperation had leaked into her voice.

"Prove it to me, your faithfulness." Although Charlotte had no idea what he was thinking of, he sounded very eager about it.

"How should I?" She allowed herself to indulge him just this once.

"Bear my child!" exclaimed he.

He gave her no room to answer, however, for he threw himself at her with patronizing kisses. It made Charlotte question his affection for her but she made no move to protest or otherwise react.

She let him sneak under her blanket, and slide his hands along her body beneath her nightgown. His fingers began to shake upon touching her warm skin. He buried his nose in her bosom in an attempt to compose himself.

"Charlotte, my dear Charlotte!" he whispered, struggling to remove her gown. When he at last succeeded, he very gingerly cupped her small breast and kissed it. His hand then traveled to the small of her back as he held her bare body close to his.

Charlotte said nothing. There was something unusually repulsive about him that night but she couldn't possibly reject his ardor. His passion had been fully ignited, there was no turning back at this point.

"Charlotte, love, why are you so cold?" He took a brief pause to look at her.

"I beg your pardon?" She tried to conceal her emotionless orbs.

"Even if you don't say anything, I can feel it. You don't want me, even when I desire you so."

His fingertips grazed the skin of her chest and pinched her flesh, arousing her. "Your lust for me at this moment is no different from any other woman's. I want you to _love me_, Charlotte."

"Oh, don't be foolish." She shut him up with a kiss unique to her lips which she knew he would definitely enjoy.

Her scheme reached its purpose, for Alcott immediately responded with intense excitement. An excitement unlike his usual, deeper, stronger. Charlotte let her ecstasy be lead by his own, soon much too engulfed in his fiery love to think of anything else.

* * *

_Ah...we have almost reached the end! There are still a few chapters to go so please keep supporting us! Also, I apologize for the late update. The next chapter will be posted in two or three weeks._


	17. III Scene 4

Scene 4

* * *

Luke stared a while more at the darkness. He had to do _something_. He had to tell _someone_. He figured that Alcott could be in danger. He could go to his manor, it was somewhere in London, West End, most likely. But Luke feared that if he showed up at the Aethelburg residence in the dead of the night, bringing such apparently absurd news, he'd be restrained instantly and interrogated.

The journalist shook his head. This was indeed important intelligence but he valued his life more than anyone else's. A safer choice would be letting the puppy Earl know about this but where could Luke find a carriage that would take him all the way to the Phantomhive estate at such an hour?

Luke sighed, frustrated. News was best delivered hot off the press so he felt that he couldn't wait until sunrise. Making up his mind to inform Ciel about his discovery as soon as possible regardless of the rudeness of his intrusion, Luke dashed out into the street and headed towards the closest stables.

He was acquainted with a stable lad that lived just a few streets away. The boy was startled to be awoken so violently but upon receiving a few coins from Luke, he was more than willing to get a horse for him.

Riding wasn't one of his favorite hobbies, but Luke had been taught it by his father, at the same time when he had learnt how to shoot. The journalist consoled himself by thinking that going there on horseback would be quicker than hailing a cab.

* * *

Alcott lay next to his wife, his body drenched in hot sweat and his breathing heavy. Charlotte had cuddled herself at his chest, her eyes shut tightly. Fortunately, her wound hadn't opened, but it certainly felt like it had.

"Are you in pain, love?" Alcott inquired, deeply concerned. She had hidden her countenance from him but he could sense her stiff body.

She gave no answer, focusing instead on restoring her breathing pattern. Alcott wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close to him. "I apologize. I let my quick temper get the best of me." He kissed her head, caressing her hair. "Sleep now, my love. You shall feel better in the morning."

Charlotte wanted to believe him. But when it came to matters of health or physical pain, she couldn't trust anyone but the apothecary.

"I wonder what's with the ruckus at this hour," Alcott murmured, his attention suddenly caught by loud noises coming from the front hall. "Why hasn't Eglantine dealt with it quietly?" His tone bore deep uneasiness. His grasp on his wife tightened.

The door to Charlotte's bedroom burst open all of a sudden, startling the couple. Charlotte opened her eyes, not only curious, but also very worried. Two figures were standing in the doorframe, one of them taller and seemingly more composed than the other. He was also holding a lit candle.

"Alcott Aethelburg?" the shorter man asked.

"Who are you?" Alcott questioned, frowning. He sat up, pulling the blanket over Charlotte, and hid her from their view. "For what reason dare you intrude upon me in such a manner at this time of the night?"

The shorter man smirked slyly, "I am Charles Grey and this is Charles Phipps. Together we are Queen Victoria's Double Charles. And _you_, my dear Earl, are being arrested."

As the two Charles got closer, Alcott could recognize the features of the taller one, Charles Phipps. "Celik!" he uttered in disbelief.

Charlotte gasped but lay low.

"What—how—but why?" Alcott fumbled for his words.

Charles Grey made a thoughtful pause. "Let's see…Illegal opium trade as well as…_murder_."

Alcott stared at them in shock. "Murder? And who do you claim that I have murdered?"

"Oh, your victims are many," Grey cried, "but the most recent and notable would have to be the five actors and actresses, along with a failed attempt at taking your own wife's life."

Charles Grey craned his neck to peek behind Alcott but the Earl shielded his wife with his body. "Oh, my apologies—to the Countess, not you, Earl. It was rude of me trying to catch a glimpse of you under such circumstances. Well, then, Earl Aethelburg. It's about time we got going."

The shorter Charles grabbed Alcott's arm and pulled him out of bed. "No!" Charlotte shrieked, uselessly trying to hold on to him.

"Don't get in the way, woman!" Grey hissed, kicking her off.

"No! Don't you dare touch her!" Alcott aggressively struggled out of Grey's grasp but to no avail. The Queen's butler punched him in the face, knocking him down.

"No! Stop it!" Charlotte once again attempted to aid her husband but Grey prevented her from reaching him, seizing her hair.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, 'tis not fitting of a lady to walk around _naked_." He threw her away like a piece of trash and returned to Alcott.

After his devious companion was gone, Phipps bowed to the lady and even bothered to gather the sheets and cover her with them. Charlotte almost snapped at him but she knew she'd stand no chance in a fight against him.

"You're bleeding," Phipps dully noted. She instinctively put her hand over her opened wound. "I apologize but may I take some of your husband's clothing?"

She snorted and wiped her cheeks with her bloody fingers. "You won't find anything of his in this room other than his trousers."

"I see…I shall go look for his personal chamber then." Before he left, he knelt in front of the lady and wiped the blood from her face with such quick movements that baffled her.

He was gone in another instant and Layla soon came to attend to her mistress.

* * *

The dawn was breaking by the time Luke finally arrived at the Phantomhive manor. There had been no moon and it had been difficult for a novice rider to find his way around in the dark.

But as soon as he spotted the imposing silhouette of the manor house, he made haste and dismounted in a rush upon reaching the doorstep. "Hey, puppy Earl!" he hollered, pounding his fists against the massive door. "Open up! This is urgent news!"

The door was soon opened by the red-eyed butler, holding an elaborate, silver candlestick. "Mr. Linnett, what a surprise," Sebastian stated plainly.

Luke showed himself in. "I have urgent news for your Earl. Where is he?"

"Sleeping, of course," the butler answered unaffected.

"This is no time to be sleeping!" Luke blurted. "I saw him." Sebastian's brows rose inquisitively. "I saw Adil Celik." Luke swallowed, to buy some time to gather his thoughts. "But there is no Adil Celik. It was all just a bloody farce."

"What are you talking about, Mr. Linnett?" Sebastian asked, frowning.

"Adil Celik is one of Queen Victoria's butlers, Charles Phipps."

Luke paused, waiting for the piece of news to settle in. Sebastian's eyes were gradually widening as he realized what that implied. If Charles Phipps had been pretending to be Adil Celik just to get close to Alcott, then…

"Earl Aethelburg is in danger," Luke voiced the butler's thoughts, "and if the Queen is involved, considering what she already did, the Countess' safety cannot be vouched for either."

"Wait here, Mr. Linnett," Sebastian sharply said. It sounded more like an order than anything.

The butler quickly ascended the stairs and roused his Master from his bed. They set off to the Aethelburg manor soon afterwards but by the time they arrived, the sun had thoroughly risen and the Double Charles had long departed.

They were greeted by Layla upon their entrance in the front hall and the maid strongly disapproved of the men's taking any further steps.

"Layla," Charlotte called in a broken voice.

All three men averted their eyes upon catching sight of her. She was still wrapped up in the sheets, which were stained by blood in the upper right corner, and her lip was bruised.

"Milady!" Layla promptly scolded her, taking Charlotte's hand to lead her away but Charlotte wouldn't budge.

Her eyes were fixed on Sebastian, who had been secretly glancing at her the whole time. He was standing right next to Ciel, a step ahead of Luke's right. Unable to hold her tears anymore, Charlotte let them loose, her hands clenching tightly on her improvised robes.

She blindly trod towards the butler, her legs shaking and her feet clumsy. She almost tripped a couple of times but Sebastian dared not make a move to help her.

"Lottie, what are you—" Ciel muttered, stunned. Charlotte had come dangerously close to his butler.

The boy blushed hot red as Charlotte crashed into Sebastian's chest. The butler had to put his arms around her to hold her up, otherwise she would have collapsed on the floor, making for an even more disgraceful sight than she already was.

Luke couldn't control the blood rushing to his cheeks, either, as he stared wide-eyed at the Countess crying at the butler's chest and the butler fondly embracing her. In some corner of his mind, he smugly thought that he had sniffed them out correctly, but his being was much too overwhelmed by shock to allow his mien to display anything other than just that.

Ciel, on the other hand, was just as speechless, his mouth agape. He had previously refuted that there could be any sort of intimacy between his butler and a woman but it appeared that he had been wrong in his assumptions. The young Earl was telling himself that such a thing happened because Charlotte was having a mental breakdown, but it only aggravated the matter.

If Charlotte could not think clearly because of the great emotional distress, it meant that her inner instincts had guided her to the man that she knew would best comfort her.

"Sebastian, you—" Ciel began but he had no words to voice his query.

He stared at Charlotte's figure, wound tightly around Sebastian. Sebastian wasn't letting go, either.

"What is this?" Ciel spluttered.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Ciel looked up. Luke was staring down at him, almost pityingly. But his words were addressed to the black butler. "Let's get her inside. She'll get cold."

Charlotte didn't react, but she allowed herself to be carried inside. Her maid, Layla, followed anxiously. Luke steered Ciel inside, then shut the door.

"My Lady—" Layla began.

"Allow me," Sebastian suggested. "I will help her into her clothing."

Layla turned red. "I can't allow you to—a man—my lady—" she stuttered incoherently.

"There's no need to fear. I will attend to her, and nothing more. I won't make her do anything she doesn't want to."

Layla narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced, but reluctant to say so. She had been trying to attend to Charlotte since the Double Charles had left, but Charlotte was unresponsive to everything. Her Lady must have been terrified.

She was the only woman in the household, aside from Eglantine and Charlotte herself. Eglantine had disappeared to God knows where. The only ones left were all men.

A slight gesture interrupted Layla's thoughts. Charlotte seemed to have come partially awake, and had lifted her head. "It'll be fine, Layla."

"My Lady—"

"If she says so, it's no trouble, isn't it?" Sebastian cut in, almost rudely.

Layla fell silent.

Without further ado, Sebastian whisked Charlotte upstairs. His gait indicated that he knew the place well, a fact that both Luke and Layla noted with disapproval.

* * *

Sebastian pushed the door open with his hip. Thankfully it wasn't locked.

Charlotte lay in his arms, but her eyes were no longer the dull red that had greeted them at the door. Now it was lit with a quiet fire, watching him.

Sebastian set her down on the bed. "Wait a moment, My Lady. I shall prepare your bath."

Charlotte nodded, a tiny thing, but it eased Sebastian a little. At least she wasn't so unresponsive anymore.

Sebastian drew the bath quickly, calling on some of his powers to fill the tub with hot water. He'd noticed that her body temperature was rather low. When he returned to the bed, he found her sitting up.

The blanket had rolled off her shoulder, revealing her creamy skin.

"My Lady?" Sebastian said gently. "Your bath is prepared."

He wasn't used to this, being gentle to humans. It was a concept completely alien to him, but it seemed appropriate given Charlotte's condition.

Charlotte nodded once more, but made no move to get out of bed.

Sebastian cocked his head confusedly. Another curious concept, these human feelings—and the way they reacted to them. She was obviously traumatized at having seen her husband be taken away from her.

But wasn't this what she had wanted? Even subconsciously, she must have known that something like this might be the outcome of her mission…

"Would my Lady like me to assist in her bath?"


	18. III Scene 5

Scene 5

* * *

Charlotte jumped at the abrupt suggestion. Sebastian was looking at her without any emotion at all, except perhaps a polite kind of interest.

"What?" she murmured.

"My Lady, if you try to bathe in this state, you might drown in the tub. If my suggestion upsets you, perhaps I should call your maid?"

"No!" Charlotte shouted. Her body had bruises…no, marks on it from Alcott's passion earlier that...night. Yes, it was still the same night, wasn't it? This night was so damned long, it seemed as if she had lived two lifetimes in the past few hours.

Alcott had been taken away, and it was her fault.

That was the crux of the matter. If she hadn't spied…the evidence might not have been unearthed.

If she was going to be damned for it…

"No," repeated Charlotte. "You…Sebastian, you may assist me in my bath."

Sebastian's eyes flashed. "Yes, My Lady."

* * *

From the moment Sebastian's gloved hands touched her, she knew she wanted this.

The butler undressed her in the bed. Artfully, he swept the sheets from her shoulder, revealing that she was naked underneath. Her bruises were livid against her pale skin, and her bullet wound was still tender.

"I will attend to these after your bath," Sebastian whispered in her ear, touching the nipple of one breast, where a red mark throbbed. "I shall…make you feel better."

Charlotte's breath caught at those meaningful words, but she did not contest them. What, after all, was there to fight against? Here was Sebastian, the man she wanted more than her husband, Alcott.

Sebastian carried her like a bride to her bath. He carefully lowered her onto the scented water, and lathered up some soap in his hands. When they were slick, he rubbed her body down with the soap, using calm, circular strokes.

He began with her back, being careful not to touch the wound. Charlotte's back arched as his hands slid lower and lower, tracing the outline of her spine. She shuddered.

"My Lady, don't move about too much. You will re-open your wound."

She whipped around to offer a snarky remark, but gasped again as his hands swirled around either side of her waist and worked upward. He was careful, overly careful, of not touching the last part of her—that intimate part. Her stomach, now, and her belly button…His hands under the water were moving faster.

"Ah!" she cried, when his thumbs scrubbed at her ribs, rhythmic and still hot, on either side. How could anyone be this warm? Was it the water?

Or was it her?

"S-Sebastian…" She whimpered. Her mind was turning to mush. She turned to Sebastian…

...only to find him smiling at her. "Yes?" he purred, his slender hands cupping her breasts.

"N…" she began.

His hands swept over her chest the last time, then it was her shoulders, and her neck. It was just as well. If he had continued his ministrations of her she did not know what she would have done.

Sebastian paused while he massaged her long hair with some hair-oil. He was good at this, Charlotte realized. Better, maybe, than she could have guessed.

"You can lean back, My Lady. I will wash your legs."

"I…can do…"

"Just stay still, Charlotte."

The use of her name temporarily paralyzed her. Without further ado, Sebastian moved to the foot of the tub and reached for her right leg.

"Sebastian!"

But Sebastian only cleaned her leg up to her knee. He washed it carefully, not moving to her thighs. He did wash out her feet meticulously, going in between her toes. Then he went to her left leg and did the same thing.

It felt so good. She closed her eyes, leaning back as he had suggested, and moaned softly.

Sebastian moved to her head again. "I would like to allow you to stay longer, but I'm sure that my Master and Mr. Linnett are waiting for you," he told her. "I will rinse you now."

She opened her eyes just in time to see steam. He was rinsing out her hair, painstakingly pouring water on her locks so that none reached her eyes. He sifted through tresses, getting some tangles out, but doing it so carefully that she did not feel any tug.

Then Sebastian's lips were on her own, the kiss flame-hot, ardent, passionate. Charlotte kissed back, and if she realized that she was crying again, she did not think about it.

* * *

Sebastian got her out of the bath soon after that, and she still looked somewhat dazed by his technique. He found plenty of opportunities to touch her as he dried her and helped her dress, but he did not violate her.

He wondered why.

Perhaps it was those tears—he licked them as soon as they fell. They were the bittersweet tears of a woman who regretted what she had done, and they were so very, very delicious. As a side-dish to Ciel's soul, they were quite adequate.

But he never let tears stop him from enjoying a woman before, quite the opposite, in fact. Still, he did not push her down the bed to have his way with her. He knew that Charlotte's defenses would be weak, and there was that part of her that wanted him. In a way he wanted her too…

But not if she was unwilling.

Why?

* * *

"So…it was all a trap?" Ciel asked quietly.

Luke nodded. He had already drunk one pot of coffee and was halfway through his second. There was a proper breakfast in front of them of course—ham and eggs and rashers, bread and cheese—but the reporter had polished it all off in under five minutes.

Ciel had never seen anyone eat so fast.

For his part, Luke relied on the food and coffee to keep him awake. If this was a normal day, he would still be asleep at this time. His adrenaline rush at riding was wearing off.

"I think the Queen wanted Alcott out of the way for some time now," Luke said. "If those Charles were watching him for two years…she must have been waiting for him to slip up." He sighed. "Only, how did they arrest him? Did you pass the Queen the evidence?"

"No!" the Earl said loudly. "Of course not! We weren't certain, were we? Why would I…" Then he stopped dead. "That time, when he went to my house…"

"What? What? What? Alcott came? He visited you? What? Why?" Luke spluttered. "Why didn't I know this?"

"Because it happened only yesterday, idiot," Ciel said bluntly. "Basically he came to threaten my butler…on his relationship with Charlotte."

"I knew that it was trouble," muttered Luke. He poured a fresh cup of coffee—Ciel was limited to milk.

"Did you know that he was keeping you watched?"

Luke was genuinely shocked. "Who, me?"

"Yes. He knew that you'd sell any information for a price. He wanted to watch your other buyers. That's how he knew…"

Luke whistled softly, then shook his head. "I underestimated him. I never thought that he would do that, I'm too much of a nonentity—or so I thought. I apologize, Ciel."

"No matter," Ciel said dismissively. "We must plan what to do now."

"Alcott is Mafia, but they could not gather evidence against him," Luke said thoughtfully. "He's too clever to engage in a crime that could be directly linked to him. I'm guessing that at some point in time, those actresses and actors were involved in something illegal, and Alcott proved the perfect connection to them. Just like gathering all the bad eggs in one basket. So the Queen hatches a plan to eliminate them…"

Then he paused and looked at Ciel in the eye. "I'm hoping that the Queen would not know that we know Alcott was framed, but…after this it would be dangerous to be further involved. It's out of our hands now. If we investigate, we'd be up against the Queen—maybe the whole of England."

Ciel smiled. Luke did not know about his butler. Ciel had nothing to fear. The Earl noted the tone of Luke's voice. Clearly the reporter wanted to protect him from intrigue.

"The Queen's instructions were to find the killer," Ciel said simply.

Luke sighed and drank another cup. "I'm not saying I don't understand, but you're too young to end up in jail, boy. Vincent would never forgive me if I let it happen."

Ciel ignored him.

"Damn it, I need sleep," Luke mumbled. "Oh, another thing, puppy Earl—you better get the Countess Aethelburg out of here."

Ciel nodded. "I'm working on it."

Luke smiled. "Just as long as you know. Speaking of which, they're taking a long time, aren't they?"

* * *

At that moment Charlotte walked into the room, followed by Sebastian. She was still flustered by her bath, but more alert than ever—ready to take on anything. She knew that her energy would not last—she had barely got any sleep, after all—but Sebastian was right. They had to decide what was to be done.

She seated herself and nodded at Luke and Ciel. "So, how are things?"

"We think Alcott's been set up," Luke said succinctly. "We were wondering what to do next."

"I also believe that he's innocent. Well, perhaps not completely, but he did not murder those people. We have to gather evidence that he's innocent, then," Charlotte said. "And in the meantime make sure that he does nothing rash while in prison."

Luke agreed. "I can keep an eye on him in prison," he said. "No one would think I'm up to anything. The Queen doesn't know I'm involved—at least not yet."

"Very well. Charlotte, Sebastian and I would search for evidence that Alcott is not involved," Ciel remarked. "Or—do you still need rest, Lottie?"

"Do you think I could rest like this?" Charlotte asked him flatly.

"I didn't think so. Fine. Listen, we need to get some sleep. I don't think Alcott would try anything in daylight. Luke, do you have people that can watch him?"

"I can get people from my paper. They'd be happy to."

"Just don't tell them what we're up to!"

Luke snorted. "How do you think I kept myself alive all these years, pup? I won't do anything that could risk separating my head from my neck—I like it where it is."

"Charlotte, can you ask the theatre about his whereabouts when the murders occurred? Sebastian and I will check the Mafia. If our times match, that should at least put Alcott out of the scene of the crime."

Charlotte nodded. "That shouldn't be too hard."

"We should meet at sunset," Ciel added. "But somewhere that isn't connected to any of us."

Luke thought for a minute. "How about Lau's opium shop? Near the docks. We all know where it is."

"You know Lau?" Charlotte asked Luke.

Luke shrugged. "You get into a side business like mine, you meet a few odd people."

Charlotte thought of her only meeting with the Chinese man, and frowned. 'Odd' wasn't the word she'd use to describe him, exactly. More like 'abnormal'.

"That would do," Ciel decided. "We move at sunset."

* * *

Alcott sat in his cell. Breakfast had come for him—black bread and stale water—but he did not eat them. Soon enough, he would escape from there and be reunited with Charlotte. His Charlotte.

He knew that Eglantine was outside, waiting for him. Waiting for his signal. Bars were noting to his demon maid—he could escape with Charlotte in an hour.

He knew that he was being blamed for a false crime, and he inferred, already, that Ciel Phantomhive was somehow involved. If not him, then that butler.

After his escape, he would take Charlotte.

Then he would make them pay.

"After dark," he whispered. A smile lit up his face, but the effect was far from reassuring. "We will meet again, my Charlotte."

* * *

"You might all like to rest some," Charlotte began, standing up. "I'll have Layla prepare some rooms…"

Her speech was cut off by a temporary loss of consciousness. Her sight went black and she felt dizzy. With a step, she would have collapsed, had she not propped herself on the table. Sebastian was by her side right away.

"You should eat something," he whispered to her and helped her sit down.

"I'm sure the shock was too great for you, Lottie," Ciel said. "You're the one who needs to rest."

As they were talking, Layla had brought a big plate with an equally big schnitzel on it along with a mug of milk for her mistress. Charlotte smiled. "Thank you, Layla," she murmured, reaching out for the plate but her fingers were trembling. She withdrew her hand quietly.

Ciel frowned and scrutinized her face carefully. "Did they do anything to you, Lottie?" he asked in a low voice, spotting a bruise on her lip.

She brought her fingers to her mouth instinctively but quickly hid them again under the tablecloth and shook her head. "Because of my wound, I couldn't defend myself properly. I couldn't do anything…"

Towards the end she lowered her eyes to her lap, wringing her hands nervously. Luke stared at her questioningly but managed to hold his tongue. At last, he stood up and cleared his throat, unable to bear the uncomfortable silence anymore.

"I shall get going," he stated, looking around himself. He had so many queries to make but he could sense how tensed the atmosphere was. As a gentleman, he couldn't bring himself to pry into a lady's privacy.

Out of proper instinct, Charlotte also got up, although her legs were shaky.

"Please don't bother, Countess," Luke hurriedly said, seeing the lady's intention. "I know my own way out."

Charlotte attempted to smile but she lacked the strength to do more than slightly curve her lips upwards. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Linnett. I truly appreciate it."

He only grinned in return and took off. As Charlotte sat back down, Sebastian began to cut her schnitzel while Ciel struggled to bite back a yawn.

"Ciel, you should go sleep some," she meekly suggested. "Layla, why don't you show him to the guest room?"

Ciel hesitated but eventually decided to take up the offer. Watching his butler's sly grin and remembering what had passed between Sebastian and the lady, Ciel found himself in an awkward position all of a sudden.

"We'll talk later, Sebastian," the young Earl said, following the maid upstairs.

Sebastian only bowed and turned his attention to the lady as soon as his master was out of sight.

Charlotte sighed with her eyes closed. "I am afraid I have done something foolish. How are you going to explain to him—"

Sebastian silenced her with his finger on her lips. He pulled a chair close to her and sat down. "Don't worry," he whispered, so near that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheeks.

She clenched her fingers on her dress and looked away. "It was my fault. Because of me, Alcott—"

Sebastian grabbed her wrist to make her look at him. He was frowning, which confused her. "Sebastian, what's wrong?"

"Didn't you know that something like this would happen sooner or later?" he finally voiced his thoughts from before. "Why are you so affected by this?"

She blinked, shocked. "Sebastian, are you…are you being jealous right now?"

Startled, he released her hand. Jealous? No, he was just trying to understand her. "Why would I be? I'm just curious."

"I've wronged him so much," she began, her eyes teary. "He loved me, I know he did, but I have so shamelessly betrayed him in so many ways. He does have his own flaws and there were times when he made me really upset but…"

"Do you regret what you've done? Spying and cheating on him?"

She gulped. "I regret having hurt his feelings but…I cannot say I regret…you. Which makes me realize how bad of a person I am."

"Why?" He took her chin and turned her head around.

"Sebastian, please don't be like that! Not you too…"

He was taken aback by the tears that fell on his fingers. Wrapping her up in his arms, he held her tightly, just the way he knew she liked it.

"What does he know about you, my lady?" he asked, calmly caressing her back. "Does he know what you like to eat or drink? Does he know how you like to be made love to?"

Charlotte lifted her head slowly, peering up at Sebastian through her eyelashes. He captured her lips in a soft kiss, gently licking her bruise. She craned her neck as he pulled away, longing for his warmth.

"Did he ever consider anything more than his own pleasure? He claims to be in love with you…but did he ever live up to it?"

"Sebastian…" She locked gazes with him, gripping his shirt.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" His low voice was tantalizing. "Your body and your soul…he prodded you brutally, didn't he?"

Charlotte gulped and rested her forehead on his chest.

"But don't worry, I—"

"Sebastian." She cut him off with just a word.

He frowned, looking down at her. Could she have seen through his demonic desire?

"I…" She paused and let out a snort. "What have you done to me, you devil?" He almost flinched. "I am no different from those opium-eaters now. Your presence alone makes me feel at ease, firstly, then unbelievably ecstatic. You are giving this bad person so much comfort that she doesn't feel bad anymore."

Sebastian found himself at a loss for words. He hadn't assumed Charlotte to be in such a deranged state of mind. "My lady, you should go sleep—"

She looked at him but her eyes were so hazy that she couldn't see him clearly. "Sebastian, if I told you I loved you—would you believe me?"

He was silent for a few seconds, his mouth agape. It soon relaxed into a pitiful smile. "Of course," he told her sweetly.

She laughed. "How odd! Because, you see, not even I can believe myself. I have never said it to anyone before. Those three words. 'I love you'. I heard Alcott say them so many times and he wanted me to say them too but I never could."

She pounded her fist on her left breast. "Is this thing even beating?" She did it again and again until Sebastian stopped her, noticing that she was hurting herself. "I am…such a…"

"Charlotte, please."

Hearing him call her name caught her attention. "Say it again," she requested.

"Charlotte," Sebastian lovingly whispered, "my lady Charlotte." His lips were now brushing against her earlobe, before he very carefully bit down on it.

Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks and after letting out a couple of heavy breaths, she passed out.


	19. III Scene 6

Scene 6

* * *

Chuckling, Sebastian lifted the lady up in his arms and climbed the stairs without taking his eyes off her mien, not even once. Her brows were furrowed and her lips ajar. Her chest was heaving and there were even sweat drops on her forehead.

As soon as he set her down on her bed, Sebastian checked her temperature. Charlotte seemed to have a fever.

However, it was not something to be surprised about. She was sick, most likely still in shock…it would have been surprising if nothing had happened.

Even so, why was he worried?

He prepared some cold water and a clean, white towel to wipe her sweat and cool down her forehead. He removed her dress, replacing it with a more comfortable nightgown. As he buttoned it up, he couldn't help noticing the bite marks left on her body. He saw them before, when he was washing her, but why did he feel disturbed about it now?

Finally doing up the last button, his gloved fingers slid to her neck, faintly grazing the bruised skin. Her breathing was getting heavier. Sebastian picked up the wet towel and pressed it on her neck first, before applying soft kisses on every sign of Alcott's passion.

Was he jealous? Maybe. Jealous because he didn't get to leave his mark on her. After all, she was actually his. A lost, desperate soul who had nothing to hold on to…who clung on to him so tightly that he couldn't move away.

He brushed the towel slowly over her cheeks, nose and lips, going up to her forehead then down to her eyes. At this moment he sat down on the edge of the bed, looking over her with an unintelligible expression.

Reluctantly, he bent over her and touched her chest with his ear, to listen to her heartbeat. Unknowingly, he gulped and clenched his fists. It was strange, the sensation he got from innocently lying over her like that.

Remembering her words from before, he snorted as he sat up. "Love? Do you even know what that is?"

With a sigh, he pulled up her blanket and left the wet towel on her forehead before going to his master. Ciel was, obviously, not sleeping.

Sebastian bowed. "Is there anything you need, Young Master?"

"Ah, so now you worry about me too?" Ciel nonchalantly replied, feigning to be asleep, and turned his back to his butler.

"I apologize," Sebastian grinned.

"Forget it." Ciel sat up and leaned back against his pillow, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is Lottie all right?"

Sebastian hesitated. "I am afraid it would be a lie to say yes."

Ciel sighed. "Why did something like this have to happen?" The room was silent for a second. "Sebastian," Ciel continued, "is there something I should know and I don't?" He quirked a brow.

Sebastian only smiled. "I do not think so, Young Master."

"B-But you and Lottie—" Ciel stopped mid-sentence, turning red as he remembered. Clearing his throat, he pretended to look out the window, at the weather.

"Young Master, you need not worry. Lady Aethelburg was, after all,"—'Lady Aethelburg', how alien it sounded—"she was our spy from the very beginning, was she not? All I did was…stimulate her a bit."

Ciel whipped around, glaring. "What?"

Sebastian blinked, stunned. "Young Master?"

"You—What did you do to her?"

"Nothing harmful, I assure you."

Ciel rushed out of bed and put on the slippers that had been given to him. "Where is she now?"

Sebastian blinked again. "Lady Aethelburg is in her room, sleeping. It would be best if she was not disturbed, Young Master. She even has a fever."

Ciel sat on the bed, frowning. "We can't do anything while she's like that. Make sure you keep a close eye on her. There's no way of knowing what Alcott is planning to do."

Sebastian understood and his being was heated up all of a sudden. "Yes, My Lord."

* * *

The day was becoming brighter as the sun was rising higher. Fortunately, Charlotte's fever had subsided. With a smile of relief, he picked up the basin of water and after putting it back to its original place, he went to the kitchen to aid Layla with the cooking.

However, the maid was reluctant about letting him help her. Even if she didn't dare to voice her complaints, her eyes were much too obviously glaring daggers at the butler. Sebastian only kept on smiling.

Charlotte was still sleeping in her bed. Sebastian had opened the windows slightly, to air the room, the curtains drawn. Unexpectedly, a gust of wind blew them away, allowing a temporary flash of light to fall on Charlotte's face.

Soundless steps approached the lady's bed. Lips lowered to her ear and moved quickly, whispering. At that very moment, Layla had just opened her mouth and was about to scold the butler.

But he was frowning while looking towards the living room, more exactly the stairs. Layla turned around to follow his gaze but as she did that, he rapidly took off and by the time Layla switched her attention back to where he should have been, Sebastian had already vanished.

Reaching Charlotte's room in a second, he slammed the door open and came to a halt. She had sat up, breathing heavily with her eyes wide. The thick curtains were waving because of the strong wind, which made for a very ominous succession of light and darkness.

Sebastian grimaced. He'd been just one step too late. Closing the large doors behind him, he also went to close the windows then sat down on Charlotte's bed to comfort her. He instinctively wrapped his strong arms around her small frame, holding her close as she sobbed once again.

"You are such a crybaby, milady," he playfully teased her, although he knew it wasn't true.

For Charlotte, crying had become second nature. It was a way of discharging her bottled up emotions whenever she got into a complicated situation during her spying job. Moreover, to be able to bring tears to her eyes easily and in a controlled manner was considered an important skill for an actress.

Therefore, Charlotte cried a lot. Sometimes uncontrollably. Most times by herself. But it was more comfortable like this. Clinging on to this man's shirt…feeling safe in his firm embrace…

Her tears were over quickly. And when she looked up in his eyes, a smile came to her lips even more quickly. He also smiled softly at her in response, placing a kiss on her forehead, to remind her of his support for her.

Delicately, he stroked her hair and, at times, her cheeks. He wanted to question her, he had to, but he attempted to delay it as much as possible. He feared that it might throw her into another state of shock.

To prevent it, he lay down on the bed with Charlotte still glued to his chest. After a short while of peaceful silence, he finally made up his determination to ask,

"What happened, Charlotte?" He looked down at her and their gazes met. "Please, tell me," he whispered, kissing her forehead again, "only then will I be able to help you."

As he stared deeply into her eyes, he wondered whether she would choose to protect her imprisoned husband.

You will not, will you? My lady Charlotte.

* * *

Luke stayed out of the opium shop while he waited for the nobles.

The sky was a bloody combination of reds and oranges, staining the sunset with fire. He couldn't help but think of war colors, how appropriate it was.

He had gotten only three hours of sleep. Apparently it had been a mistake to have a pot of coffee at the Aethelburg manor; he had been wide awake. Restless, he had visited Thom, whom he'd asked to keep an eye on the Earl Aethelburg.

According to Thom, the Earl was unruffled by his stint in jail. He only sat on the bench, not sleeping, not eating. He didn't speak to anyone, which had resulted in the jail guards' annoyance.

That wasn't entirely unexpected. The next bit of news was.

"He had a visitor," Thom had told him, "not his wife."

It was his maid, Eglantine. She had brought him a change of clothes and a razor (which was taken away from the Earl as soon as he was finished shaving). Neither maid nor master seemed surprised to see the other there. Perhaps the Lady Charlotte Aethelburg had sent the maid there, Thom speculated.

Of course Luke knew that Charlotte had not. He didn't know why he thought this piece of news was significant, but it was. Eglantine could simply have been watching from one of the manor's windows as Alcott was taken away…but then, shouldn't her first duty have been to her mistress—Charlotte? Luke, remembering Layla's anxious mothering of Charlotte, shook his head. He had voiced none of his opinions to Thom, since he was being watched by people he didn't know. Even now, it was possible that there was someone monitoring his actions.

There was a clatter of hooves and Luke turned away from the sunset. A carriage was coming up to him, driven by a young man with…were those snakes on his shoulders?

The carriage stopped in front of him. The snake-man driver left his perch and opened the carriage door to let Ciel and Charlotte through.

"Luke," Charlotte said. "I apologize for being late."

"It's not an issue," replied Luke, staring at the snakes. Were they tame? "How about the alibis?"

"We weren't able to. We stayed at Lottie's place," Ciel explained.

Unspoken assumption was that Charlotte had been in no fit state to go anywhere. Luke nodded to say he understood.

Ciel turned to the snake-man driver and spoke softly. At once, the driver returned to the carriage and left the two nobles standing with the journalist. Luke could've sworn that one of the snakes on the driver's shoulder was glaring at him as they passed.

"Alcott's maid visited him in jail," Luke said conversationally as the three of them withdrew in the deeper shadows of the docks.

"Eglantine?" exclaimed Charlotte. "Where did she come from? How did she even know Alcott was there?"

"I don't know the answers to either of your questions, Lady. But I will say that according to my source, neither of them seemed very surprised to see the other one there. Somehow she must have known."

"Call me Charlotte," she said. "I don't know how…unless she's also associated with the Queen's men?"

"That's a thought," agreed Ciel. "What do you know about that maid?"

"Almost nothing. I know she's traveled before coming to Alcott's service around a couple of days after I arrived there. Luke, you've seen her, right?"

"Once or twice. I've never even heard her speak. Well," sighed Luke tiredly, "We'll see where she turns up. If she's really an agent of the Queen, she's untouchable. But I don't think so. If she really were, Alcott would've been arrested a lot sooner, wouldn't he? She was in that house all the time."

The three of them fell silent as they tried and failed to guess who Eglantine really was.

"Where's that damn butler of yours?" Luke suddenly inquired.

"He's going to follow Alcott's transport," Ciel answered. "He'll get here when it's close."

"Have you got your pistol, pup?"

A vein was twitching in Ciel's forehead. "Yes, and I'll shoot your mouth off if you call me pup again."

Luke chuckled. "Isn't that what you are? A good little puppy following the orders of that lady in Buckingham."

"Luke, you—"

"My Lord," a voice emerged from the darkness. "The Earl's carriage is coming."

Luke and Charlotte jumped. Luke had his pistol in his hands in seconds, and Charlotte was gaping, but Ciel was unperturbed. Sebastian Michaelis had come up from behind them, seemingly from nowhere.

"Are you sure he's coming? Luke said he'd be here in the evening."

"He was escorted to a Black Maria shortly after I arrived," reported Sebastian. "I followed them for a while. It seems that they are passing here, though for what reason, I don't know."


	20. III Scene 7

_Last chapter, darlings! Proper thank-yous and good-byes will appear at the end of the epilogue. Ah, I can't believe it's the end..._

* * *

Scene 7

* * *

Sebastian!

It really was Sebastian, coming out from the darkness as he always did. Luke was ranting about Sebastian nearly giving him a heart failure, but Sebastian remained impassive.

Suddenly Sebastian smirked at her.

Charlotte blushed as she turned away. She thought she knew what he was thinking: that she was a cold-hearted wife to practically deliver her husband to the gallows. All her tears, her regrets, and her actions now pointed to one thing: she felt guilty about Alcott's imprisonment. She wanted to erase her past doings.

Her deepest, most secret fear was that she had somehow wanted this.

She realized that she had become Alcott's wife without really loving him. What did she know about love? Married at seventeen, to her patron. That patron was practically the only person she knew in London…the same person who had wrenched her away from her parents. Granted, her parents played a willing part, but it could have been different. If she had run away from Alcott, how different would things have been?

She knew now that she did not love Alcott as a wife should love her husband. They had shared three years of their life together, and it was only like playing house. At the most it was like living with her employer—at times she would subject herself to him because it was an advantage.

How cruelly she had treated Alcott! She shook her head, denying that in her heart she had thought Alcott as nothing more than a way to tie her down, restrain her freedom. Did she resent him? She had wanted him gone…

But not this way! Not this way, she repeated to herself. Not this way. Not in a permanent way.

And so she had turned away from her husband and into Sebastian's arms. And what had Sebastian given her? Solace, comfort: things that she could never ask from Alcott, things that he had never offered.

And now? Did she love him now, or was it only a sense of responsibility borne from guilt?

"Charlotte," Luke said softly. "Are you all right?"

"As much as can be expected," she replied.

"Can you fire a gun?"

"What?" she said, startled. Horrified.

"I've got a gun for you. Do you know how to fire it?"

"Do you expect me to shoot Alcott?!"

Luke's face hardened. "Whoever told you that you'd need to shoot _him_?"

She paled. That was true…whatever possessed her to jump to that conclusion so quickly?

"I think I better not give you a gun." Luke concluded.

She nodded. This was bloody marvellous. Even Luke was handling her with kid gloves.

"They're here," Ciel whispered. He had his own gun out, and what kind of a world was this that a thirteen-year old was allowed to have a gun and she wasn't?

The same world that would bind a man and a woman together without affection.

The four of them listened closely. Now that they had stopped speaking, they could hear a carriage coming—different from the usual carriages that adorned London. Somehow heavier. A carriage-jail: a Black Maria, used to transport prisoners.

"So what's the plan?" whispered Luke. "We weren't expecting to meet it here…"

"We'll create a diversion," Ciel whispered back. "Sebastian and I. You and Charlotte can take him in the confusion—my driver is two streets away from here, he can return you to my house discreetly."

"Sounds like a plan—except for the part where we can be followed," hissed Luke.

"We'll make sure that you won't," Sebastian assured him.

"We can't go to your house, even if we're not followed, they can look for us there," Charlotte argued.

"Will you two quit giving me a hard time about this and just follow what I'm telling you! He's coming!" Ciel snapped.

"I don't follow puppies," said Luke, making Charlotte giggle nervously.

"If you have anything better to suggest—"

"We can hide out at my brother's clinic," suggested Luke. "Dr. Matt Linnett. He'll take us in without any questions—and he's a doctor, so he can take care of any injuries…not that I want any of us injured!" he added hastily.

"I think he's right," Charlotte put in. "Even if they track us, they won't be expecting us to go there. It buys us time."

Ciel sighed in exasperation. "Fine! When all of this is over, I'll fetch you."

And go where? Charlotte wanted to ask. When a disaster occurred, how was she supposed to pick up the pieces? What about her marriage with Alcott? Was there any place that they could go to? Did she even want to go anywhere together with Alcott?

But she didn't speak, because Luke was nodding and Ciel was moving into the open, ready for creating the distraction. She saw how Luke's eyes followed Ciel's movements, worried for the younger boy.

Sebastian was already gone.

"Stay close to me," Luke muttered.

She gave him a nod that he didn't see.

* * *

Ciel ran out in front of the carriage, his pistol out. The driver, who after all was a good man, strained at the reins to prevent the carriage running Ciel down. The horses lunged at the air, startled, then a force rammed sideways into the carriage.

The carriage turned over. Luke and Charlotte watched, astonished, as Ciel stepped coolly forward to check on the driver. He was out cold from the impact of the fall, but thankfully not dead. The horses were in worse condition: they were tangled together in a mass of legs and bodies, confused, neighed loudly.

It was clear that they would have to move fast.

Sebastian was perched on the side of the overturned carriage. He opened the carriage by wrenching out the door by the hinges, and, in the same easy motion, plucked Alcott from within.

"Is that even possible?" spluttered Charlotte. What was Sebastian, that he could drag a full-grown man in one hand…overturn carriages…

Then several things happened at once, that Charlotte couldn't easily follow.

First was Luke, the trigger-happy idiot, decided that it was time for their part of the plan. He darted out from where he and Charlotte were hiding, heading for Sebastian and Alcott. Luke must have been afraid that Sebastian would snap Alcott's neck, and truthfully, Charlotte couldn't blame him. She followed Luke.

She saw that Alcott was awake. He was struggling because Sebastian had him by the neck, like a stray kitten that was apt to scratch. Luke was saying something…or was about to say something, when the carriage door flew past Charlotte, dangerously close—she felt the wind of it as it passed.

Then Luke was on top of her, forcing her to lie down. Now she was struggling too, because she didn't understand: did Sebastian throw the carriage door at them? Why would he?

"Luke!"

"Get down, Lady, we have visitors," shouted Luke over the screams of the panicked horses.

She realized that Alcott and Sebastian weren't together anymore. It wasn't the carriage door that had shot past Charlotte, it was Sebastian…and Alcott was standing on the ground before them. He was adjusting his collar calmly, and beside him was…

"Eglantine," whispered Charlotte. "What…?"

* * *

"You're late," Alcott told Eglantine coldly.

"I apologize, master. I didn't realize that Earl Phantomhive would also attempt an escape plan for you."

Ciel! Charlotte suddenly remembered. Where was he?!

Ciel was standing too, but he was still positioned in front of the carriage. Sebastian suddenly appeared at Ciel's side, looking slightly ruffled. He didn't look as if he had been thrown from anywhere.

"Who are you?" Charlotte asked Eglantine. But what she really meant was, "What are you?"

Everyone ignored her. Alcott sniffed in disgust, and then said, "Well, I suppose that children are still good for something. I wouldn't have to fetch my wife all the way from the manor." He held out a hand. "Come, Charlotte."

She only stared at Alcott's hand. What was she supposed to do?

"She doesn't seem to want to go with you," sneered Ciel.

Alcott gave Ciel a withering glare. He looked at Charlotte again, and then said, more insistently, "Come, Charlotte!"

"You do realize that you'd be hunted all your life," Luke murmured. "If you leave her behind, she can go free. Don't you owe her that, at least? Let her go."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Luke Linnett," Alcott said icily. "You haven't ever been married."

"Looking at you both, I'd rather not be."

"Is it not the duty of a wife to be with her husband?"

"Not if she's the one who put him in jail," mumbled Charlotte.

"Enough of this," snarled Alcott. "Eglantine, take her."

Eglantine took a step forward.

"I don't normally shoot women, but I'll make an exception," Luke said, then fired. His bullet hit Eglantine in the lower leg—he must not have wanted to hurt her, only immobilize her.

Eglantine stumbled, but Charlotte already half-expected the result: the mysterious maid kept going, slowly and deliberately walking to the place where Luke and Charlotte lay.

"What the…" Luke began to say when Eglantine loomed over them.

Eglantine picked the reporter up by his collar. Luke, surprised, dropped his gun, right beside Charlotte. The maid flung the older man aside as carelessly as if he weighed fifteen pounds instead of a hundred and seventy.

"Luke!" Ciel and Charlotte shouted together.

A split second later, Charlotte was swept up in Eglantine's arms. She yelled, kicking at the maid, but Eglantine didn't even flinch.

"The ship?" Alcott asked Eglantine.

"It is ready."

"Place my wife there and wait for me," instructed Alcott.

"No," breathed Charlotte.

"Sebastian!" Ciel called. "Get Lottie away from Alcott!"

Charlotte could best describe the next sensation as falling sideways very fast. She didn't know how, but she was whipped around so quickly it was a wonder her neck didn't snap. Her eyes couldn't focus on the blurs in front of her, but she was still with Eglantine.

"Sebastian!" she screamed.

Then she was dropped to the floor roughly. Dazed, she slowly realized that Eglantine and Sebastian were fighting—at speeds and strengths that ought to have killed normal people. It was there in the way that their blows made the air whistle, in the way that they used no guns because it had no effect on them.

She saw Luke trying to get up—he was wincing, which meant that he had sprained or broken something when Eglantine threw him. And Ciel…

Ciel was in front of Alcott. The younger Earl's gun was pointed at Charlotte's husband.

"Are you going to kill me yourself then?" Alcott said, regarding Ciel without interest.

"You have a contracted demon," Ciel answered.

"Oh, yes. Eglantine. She's magnificent, isn't she? I called her to avenge my dead sister, Beatrice. But your demon is not so bad, either. Did you call him for revenge as well?"

"That's none of your business," snapped Ciel.

"So is my wife," Alcott shot back. "Leave her to me, child. She is not yours."

"Luke's right," Ciel said. "You'll never escape the Queen—much less with Charlotte in tow."

"Don't underestimate me. As long as I have Charlotte and Eglantine, I can start over. Who knows? I may even pay you and your butler a visit," laughed Alcott. "But tell me, Ciel. Are you not the one who handed me to the Queen, plotting evidence so that I will be to blame for the murders? What are you planning to do?"

What indeed? Was it atonement? Ciel had killed before, both the innocent and the guilty. Alcott may not have been guilty of the crime he was accused of but it did not follow that he was innocent.

Alcott smirked, as if he knew what Ciel was thinking.

"Hmph," Ciel snorted. "I was tricked by the Queen once. You are simply my means to get back at her."

"How bold, to try and teach the Queen of England a lesson! That hag in the palace will never learn anything. She simply takes what she wants—like a child. Like you."

"I am not a child."

Alcott only grinned. "To return to the matter at hand—what do you actually want? Is it for me to escape? Rest assured that I am already doing so, but not without Charlotte. You are in the way. All I'd need to do is to kill you here and now, and your Sebastian would not be bound to follow your orders any longer."

"Not if I kill you first," growled Ciel.

* * *

Eglantine was proving to be a difficult enemy.

If Sebastian would assess their skills, he would have put her below him. However, her speed was a definite advantage. She dodged Sebastian almost as quickly as the butler attacked, seemingly reading his thoughts.

As a result, neither of them could land any sustaining damage. The fight was at a standstill. The only way that they could stop would be if either of their masters gave new orders. And by the way things were going, Alcott was the one who'd give new orders. Orders to kill Ciel.

Sebastian could see Charlotte in the background, watching the scene with confusion. No doubt that this was beyond her, this fight. But all of this was her own doing, wasn't it?

He was disappointed in Charlotte, but he never had great expectations when it came to her. She was human, ergo flawed. What was more, it was her emotions that made her so, creating a never-ending cycle of temptation and guilt. Doubt and hatred.

"Keep your eyes on the fight," hissed Eglantine. Sebastian turned back to her just in time to deflect a blow to his solar plexus.

"You seem very enthusiastic," drawled Sebastian.

"I have my orders," said Eglantine shortly, "As do you. I will take Lady Charlotte."

* * *

Charlotte was just wishing that she had a moment of clarity—that everything would stop moving so fast—when she saw a flash of color out of the corner of her eye.

She turned.

All the commotion had finally called attention—there were two men walking towards them. Charlotte felt a bucket of ice cascade to her stomach when she realized that these two were the worst possible visitors they could have. The Double Charles.

One of them—the shorter one, the cruel one—had his sword out. The other had his gun.

"Ciel!" she shouted. "Alcott!"

* * *

The two Earls were distracted by Charlotte's shout.

"Aiding a criminal escape, Earl Phantomhive?" called Charles Grey smoothly. "We'll have to report this to the Queen."

"Eglantine," Alcott said simply.

In a flash, Eglantine was there, fighting the Double Charles. Ciel gestured to Sebastian, and Charlotte was once more ceremoniously carried.

Ciel was using this as an opportunity to escape…did he plan on leaving Alcott alone?

But no, Charlotte saw that Alcott was also running away. He was running towards the docks—then Charlotte understood. It was he, Alcott, who was using the distraction as a chance to escape.

"Luke, what about Luke?" yelped Charlotte. She didn't want the reporter to get caught in the cross-fire.

"He'll be fine, Lottie! The Double Charles won't kill him." Ciel assured her.

"But where are we going?!" Sebastian was running so fast, she was bouncing around. "I can run you know!"

She was surprised when Sebastian set her down. "Very well, my Lady."

She nodded her appreciation. This was it. She was no longer going with Alcott. They were separating. It might not have been as free of a choice as she would have liked, but…

She glanced over to Alcott to see that he was also staring at her. Beckoning. Telling her to go with him.

She couldn't go. Her muscles were locked in place. She had already made the mistake of marrying him when she did not love him—there was no reason to make another. She shook her head.

Alcott's face hardened. There must have been a small part of him that knew it, Charlotte saw. Knew it, and still kept on loving her.

"Alcott…" she whispered. Then her eyes widened.

* * *

Ciel wondered later whether there would have been any way that he could have prevented it.

Charlotte asked to be set down, and Sebastian did. They were preparing to run to the carriage where Snake was waiting—Sebastian could pick up Luke and take him to his brother.

Ciel's thoughts were running in this direction, so he was confused when Charlotte suddenly took off towards Alcott.

Was she crazy?! She still wanted to go with—

Suddenly the sound of gunshots ripped the still air. Sebastian had covered Ciel in an instant, crouching in front of his Master, but the bullets weren't meant for the Earl Phantomhive.

* * *

She would have thought that there would be pain, but there was not.

Instead she merely fell down—and she began feeling cold, from her chest outwards.

She was on the ground. Alcott was still standing two feet away from her, his expression shocked. That was good then. He didn't seem to be hurt.

"Sorry," she whispered. The cold…it was everywhere.

But there was no light, no sound…nothing at all.

* * *

Was it atonement, then?

Did Charlotte want to be forgiven for her sins? Was that why she tried to save her husband?

Or was it redemption? Did she really think that just because she gave her life to save a criminal, she would be saved?

Humans were really amusing. Give them a bit of attention, indulge their little lusts—and they were your willing slaves. Sometimes it wasn't even clear who the slave was and who was the master—but they carried on thinking that they were in control. This false illusion Sebastian could understand somewhat, but self-sacrifice? There was no meaning to it.

In the end, she lived and died according to what Sebastian could reasonably expect from humans.

* * *

"Lottie!" screamed Ciel. "_Lottie!_"

"You killed her!" Alcott was screaming too. "You killed my wife!"

"That was a mistake," Charles Grey said dispassionately, standing over Charlotte's body, "but this isn't."

And then he shoved his sword into Alcott's chest.


	21. Curtain Call

Curtain Call

* * *

Luke angrily slammed the newspaper on his desk. The same young lad who had reported about Charlotte's being shot wrote an article about her and her husband's deaths.

A clueless kid had got to write first such primetime news. The old newshound's pride was a bit stung. But more importantly, nothing was mentioned about how Charlotte took a bullet for her husband or how Alcott was stabbed by the Queen's men.

Of course. The Double Charles had planted the story carefully.

In Johnny's article, not only was Alcott's true nature exposed, but Charlotte was also disgraced. It was revealed that she'd been bought like a slave from her parents and stated that she'd become the Earl's courtesan.

She was called an 'exclusive harlot' at Alcott's disposal: he would offer her to men in order to enable his own business. But the Earl was such a possessive keeper that he eventually went mad.

He first attempted to have her killed on the night when she was on the LondonBridge with, apparently, 'her lover whom she truly adored'. 'Tis clear that the Earl hadn't been aware of her secret affair, otherwise he would have had the young man killed as well.

So the lady was shot but 'the young man with a pure heart' saved her, just as he 'had been wishing to liberate' her ever since he first 'glanced at her melancholy eyes'. Thus the Earl's plan was ruined but the lady's hopes were forever lost.

Despite her still open wound, the Earl abused her one night. Fortunately, he was denounced by the lady's lover and imprisoned. He somehow managed to escape, however, and went to take his revenge. The Earl shot his wife but the 'heroic young man who refuses to step forward' stabbed the evil Earl, putting an end to the story.

Luke was well aware that newspapers usually degenerated stories in order to fit the audience's tastes but this article was beyond degenerated. It was outrageous. Although the Earl had been in fact a criminal and Charlotte was portrayed as a victim, Luke still felt…offended.

He'd been _there_, he'd _witnessed_ everything. Johnny's article was such gibberish that the old newshound couldn't withhold an expression of disgust.

He was wondering what Ciel would think about it. Neither his name nor his butler's had been mentioned but he still thought the young Earl would find the article disturbing.

Luke had a strong urge to run to the Phantomhive manor and rant about his dissatisfaction—Ciel was, after all, one of the few who knew the truth and the only one he could talk to. But the journalist had to hold back.

The Queen was playing a dangerous game which he would rather not be part of. Much to his dismay, however, there was just one way to quit it now that he'd once been involved. With a heavy sigh, Luke began to pack his belongings. The bigger crates should have been already on the ship, all that was left now was to fill up his trunk with clothes.

He didn't want to leave St. James'. He didn't want to leave his small apartment. He didn't want to leave the city, let alone the country. But he had to. The only way to keep living life as he wanted while not endangering his head was to return to France, first to his family's home in the countryside, where his brother worked as a veterinary physician—from there, maybe, he could go to Paris.

Luke snorted. Basically starting a new life at 32. He dreaded the thought but he was grateful for the perspective, knowing that he was lucky. For a moment, he regretted not having offered to help the Countess escape to France. And for that moment, he felt guilty.

Breathing out noisily, Luke put on his hat and grabbed his trunk. He had arranged for a cab which was already waiting for him in the street.

"Terrible news, isn't it, sir?" the cabbie said casually. "About that Earl and his wife," he added, noticing the journalist's lack of reaction.

Luke barely nodded, looking out the window at the sights rushing past him. He'd miss London. He'd miss the paper. Hell, he'd even miss Ciel!

As he thought of the puppy Earl, he couldn't erase the creepy butler from his mental picture. Luke was glad to at least be away from _him_. Shuddering at the memory of the butler's eerie smile, he remembered about Sebastian's fight with Alcott's maid. That had been beyond inhuman.

Luke still couldn't quite comprehend it and some part of him was telling him that he didn't actually want to comprehend it. Such dangerous creatures were certainly not something of this world and that particular fact didn't sit well with the journalist's strong sense of self-preservation.

The Queen was one thing. Human. Earthly. She would eventually wither away and die. But _those_, those were things Luke couldn't reason with. Things he'd rather be away from.

"'Tis such a tragic piece of news," the cabbie's voice interrupted Luke's reverie, "my youngest cried all morning after she read the paper. She quite liked the lady Lottie, you know."

"It is tragic, indeed," Luke said at last, "an Earl and his wife…"

* * *

"Mr. Linnett has safely embarked on his ship to France," Sebastian announced in his unperturbed manner.

"Very well," Ciel replied, sipping his tea. The morning's newspaper was spread out on the desk.

"How did you find the morning news?" the butler cheekily asked. He was pretending to draw the curtains while secretly observing his master's reaction.

Ciel only snorted. His indignation was much too great to be put in words. He knew the story was fake, although not a complete lie. He had expected it to be fabricated, manipulated to suit the Queen's tastes. He had expected the truth about Alcott to be revealed.

But never, in his deepest, darkest dreams, would he have imagined to read such a demeaning article about his favourite actress. Lottie, a whore! The lovely, cheerful 'Alice'! The pure, the innocent Lottie who knew nothing about the high society and was mercilessly thrown in it like a lamb to the wolves.

They dared call her a _harlot_.

The demon watched his master's pursed lips and fingers clenching on the edges of the paper. The boy was silently struggling to hold in his tears and ease his rage. All of a sudden, he stood up. "Sebastian, make preparations. We're going to the cemetery."

Sebastian's cunning mien had a subtle hint of a mischievous smile. "Yes, my Lord." He bowed without asking any questions. There were a lot of people to visit in a cemetery, especially for Ciel, but the demon was aware of the young Earl's specific purpose.

* * *

"They called you heroic," the young Earl Phantomhive said to his butler. The temporary silence was filled by the rattling of the carriage wheels. "And pure-hearted."

At this Sebastian had to smirk. He'd felt like laughing throughout the whole of the article.

Ciel switched his gaze from the carriage window to his black-clad butler. "What did you do to Lottie?" he harshly inquired.

Sebastian raised his brows. "Young Master, I'm afraid I do not—"

"Cut the bloody nonsense!" the boy yelled. Sebastian looked entertained—and slightly surprised.

Ciel looked away, blushing. "I know that the two of you…spent a lot of time together …_secretly._" He almost whispered the word, aware of its embarrassing connotations.

Sebastian pondered on his mocking reply, to let the uncomfortable silence mount on the already awkward mood. "It would appear we did not do it _secretly_ enough, as the Young Master already knows about it."

Ciel turned even redder and stoutly avoided the demon's piercing stare. After a while, however, his curiosity got the best of him and he spoke up, "But why?" He finally mustered up the courage to look Sebastian in the eye. "Did you…"

The boy frowned. The word, the concept of love—or any other affectionate feelings—was so absurd that he couldn't even think it. So he decided to rephrase his query. "What did you think of Lottie?"

Sebastian didn't have a quick answer to that. There had been a time when he'd been wondering about that himself. In the end, he managed to sort out his _thoughts_ but only as he saw her dying. Only then did he fully realize that Charlotte had been just another miserable human.

"My thoughts of Lady Aethelburg?"

Ciel would have laughed, had he not felt insulted. His butler was trying to make a fool of him.

"Why, I had no thoughts of her. Not until the moment of her death. Then, I thought…" He noticed vague sadness in his master's eyes. He couldn't lie. He never lied but he could just say nothing. "I thought that humans are amusing."

Their conversation came to an end at that point. Sebastian quietly studied his master's countenance while reminiscing about Charlotte's delightful flavour.

* * *

Ciel stood in the Aethelburgs' burial vault, passing his hat to his butler and clenching his fist on his cane. Alcott had had a spot built in for his wife, right next to his, and now they were peacefully resting together.

Sebastian handed a bouquet of white lilies to his master who walked up to the tombs. The demon watched, slightly amused, as the boy slowly placed the flowers on the cold stone, but then he frowned, seeing Ciel reach into his pocket.

The butler craned his neck and caught a shiny glimpse of the small object Ciel was holding. It was a pearl. An immaculate, white pearl. Ah, yes. The lady liked pearls. The lady liked lilies, too, and milk and books and hugs. And his kisses, his touches, his whispers. Him.

Sebastian grinned smugly. Humans were so weak. Helpless, ignorant…gullible. A few words said nicely, a few caresses in the right places…So many weaknesses to take advantage of, humans were adorable toys.

Charlotte had been no exception. She'd lasted longer than he had expected and her end was different from what he had imagined…He licked his lips. He'd savored her to the core although her feeble attempt at redeeming herself had left him with a bittersweet aftertaste.

In a way, he could make out the sense of it all. Charlotte had been at the height of her happiness with him. But her story—_their_ story—could only work while Alcott was still there. Without him, she would have been dull. So she had to die for him. With him. The perfect ending.

After all, she was only human.

~The End~

* * *

_~This is truly the end...It has been a wonderful 1 year and 7 months (writing commenced on 1st October 2011, I know that precisely thanks to my inbox :P) and ended a while ago at the beginning of May 2013. This story originated as a roleplay, at a time when my mood and inspiration were at their lowest. Luckily for me, my dear, dear friend aeon fear was there for me and agreed to help me. I created a couple of OCs (Charlotte, Alcott, Eglantine) and a storyline, she added Luke and everything else came naturally._

_I will never have words to thank her enough. This story might not be our best but it means so very much to me. Thank you, aeon, for putting up with me all this time and giving me the motivation to keep this up until the very end. Black Maria loves you XD_

_There are also other people that I need to thank. And that's you, our readers, who came along for the ride, hopefully enjoying it. Thank you all so very much for all the reviews, the favorites and the follows. We're both really, really, truly, deeply grateful._

_Well, I guess it's good-bye. That odd feeling you get after you finish reading/writing a story still hasn't sunk in but I'm sure it'll come after this is up. So I have to say good-bye. I'll miss you all, honestly. _

_Much, much love,_

_Maria&aeon~_

_PS: A word from aeon:_

_"Thanks you for supporting us, now excuse me while I book myself into a mental institution. Haha. I am happy and sad at the same time. Readers won't quite believe how much we put into this-I 'm not sure I believe it myself. A very special thanks to the Black Maria, who is both my friend and co-author, though we're separated by oceans. No, she has not made me up, I have just been living under a rock. The curtain closes, the show is over. Time to go make the next batch of popcorn. Hope you enjoyed the show, my lovelies."_

_PPS: Please keep reviewing! :D_


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